Death's Favored Daughter
by Winding Warpath
Summary: The story of Ashura, a daughter of Bhaal who may take a bit after her father. The story of Baldur's Gate with a large, rotating cast and a not-so-heroic protagonist who just wants to get by. Rated M for graphic violence, swearing, some bawdy/pulpy sexual situations and jokes, and a passing mention of drugs. Will eventually contain an odd pairing or two.
1. Chapter 1 - Blooded

**Author's Note and a Warning**: This is my attempt at a novelish-sized Baldur's Gate walkthrough story. There are a lot of great Baldur's Gate fan fics out there with noble, somewhat wimpy or really heroic protagonists, which I think is the best way to approach the game's story. But this walkthroughish story attempts to be a bit different: the main character is not a terribly pleasant person and takes after her father a bit more than most [Charname]s. Will she become a heroin or a villainess later on? We'll find out.

Also a bit of a warning: while this story will _generally_ follow the plot of Baldur's Gate a lot of characters are going to die (the main character is a magical loadstone that attracts death and destruction, after all.) I apologize in advance for killing off any beloved characters, or worse still interpreting them in a different way than you might.

And any sort of reviews are welcome: positive, negative or technical.

I do not own Baldur's Gate or the Forgotten Realms or any of the characters, etc. Bioware and Wizards of the Coast own those, respectively.

Story is rated M for for graphic violence, swearing, some bawdy/pulpy sexual situations and jokes, and a passing mention of drugs.

**Death's Favored Daughter**

**Part One – The First "Adventure"**

**1 – Blooded**

_"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster…when you gaze long into the abyss the abyss also gazes into you"_ –Friedrich Nietzsche

_"Can we go just one day without someone getting brutally killed in front of us?"_ –Imoen

* * *

Mirtul 1, 1368 D.R.

As the first rays of sunlight began to warm the stones they found the girl on the battlement already sweating. She inhaled deeply and rocked forward, palms and feet resting on the stone, back arched, head up and muscles straining under her weight. She rocked back as she breathed out. Another inhalation and she repeated the exercise one more time before rising to her feet. After catching her breath she bent down and lifted two weighted practice swords from a small pile of equipment in front of her.

The dawn light fell upon the young woman's long dark hair as she paused to stretch, arms up, pointing the tips of the swords as high as she could. For a time she just stood and let the rising sun warm her through her black woolen tunic.

For two more breaths she enjoyed the luxury of the sunlight, then her arms swept down and the steel sung through the air. In tandem with the weapons her body spun, falling into a series of dueling stances. She looked at nothing in particular, head downturned with her mind's-eye focused on imagined foes. Her sandaled feet danced as she kept her left side facing the phantom enemies. The left-hand sword swirled through different parries and counter-attacks: blocking low, high, slashing back, stabbing forward. The right-hand weapon was hidden behind her body until the chosen moment when she locked her imaginary enemy down with a slash and followed through with a surprise overhand stab from her right sword.

Next she shifted to a stance that favored her right side and went through the same forms using the other sword to block and parry. She finished with an underhanded stab with her left-hand weapon aimed at imaginary guts.

After another shift in stance she launched into a series of simple combinations that used both swords in tandem. A simultaneous stab and slash, a double hack, a double parry, a scissoring cross-cut. Next came a low-

There was scraping sound on the stones behind her and the girl whirled around, pointing a sword out and bringing the second up behind her body as she tensed. The sword pointed at a short girl with a round, smiling face and copper-red hair who stood two paces away. She was in her late teens, nearing twenty, about the same age as the girl with the swords. The redhead's hands had been hidden under a purple woolen cloak but they shot up now. Her palms were open in a gesture of peace.

"And good morning to you Shura," the redhead greeted the dark haired girl in a sing-song voice. It was short for her full name: Ashura. Most people shortened her name to 'Ash' instead.

The blunt practice swords sank to the stone and then clattered as Ashura let them go. She let out an embarrassed laugh. "Uh, hey Imoen," she said. "Sorry about that."

"Throwing yourself into it huh?" Imoen noted. "Seems like you've been up here every morning for at least a tenday."

Ashura nodded as she leaned down and lifted a waterskin. She took a few careful sips before pouring more into a cupped hand and splashing it on her face. "Yeah," she said. "It's pretty private here before dawn. I can practice the forms from the old combat manuals without the Watchers scoffing at me."

Imoen turned towards the edge of the battlement and Ashura followed. Far beneath them lay the cobblestone road called the Way of the Lion, which stretched straight and true across the plateau on which Candlekeep stood. In the distance the road gradually disappeared into a forest of ancient pines. Imoen shivered slightly as a bitter northwestern wind rolled in off the Sea of Swords behind them.

"You thinking of taking up Reevor's offer?" Imoen asked.

Ashura shook her head ever so slightly, her eyes on the swaying trees across the plain. "Stand around in a metal suit looking important? No, can't really see that as my kind of life."

"Aw," Imoen said in a teasing tone. "Would have been nice to have a friend in the guard last year when Fuller caught me dipping my fingers in that traveling bard's pockets."

"Hardly," Ashura said with a chuckle. "If I joined the Watchers I'd take a vow to uphold the laws of the Citadel." She mockingly placed a hand over her heart. "I'd have to tell them about the little collection of trinkets under your floorboards."

Imoen pouted. "You wouldn't!"

A warm smile broke out across Ashura's face. "I wouldn't."

"Mask be praised," Imoen said with a grin, turning back to the horizon. After a pause she said: "When you go I'm going with you."

Ashura gave her a quizzical look.

"I know what you're thinking," Imoen said. "Yer sick of this stuffy old place. Yer thinking about what's beyond those trees. You want to follow that road, go on an adventure."

After a time Ashura slowly nodded. Since being brought to Candlekeep as a toddler she had hardly set foot outside the citadel's walls. During the summer when it got unbearably hot the youth of Candlekeep would sometimes make a short journey down to the ocean where they would swim and play on a few small spits of beach and in the tidal pools. Other times Ashura's foster father had taken her and Imoen into the nearby forest where they had camped a bit, learning to build fires, pitch a tent and survive in the wilderness. Other than that Candlekeep had been the only home the two had known.

Ashura spoke up again: "Father was disappointed when I made it clear I wasn't going to follow the path of Ohgma and become a scholar. But," she gave the slightest shrug, "that's just not for me."

"Good," Imoen said with a conspiratory grin. "We're in agreement then. I know where they keep the keys for the escape tunnels. I've also gotten pretty good at sneaking into the stables, and sometimes merchants come through with carts big enough to stow away on."

"You're thinking of running away?"

"Pish!" Imoen responded. "Wouldn't call it that. Sneaking out. A little adventure! I'd at least like to see Beregost. It's this big town we've been hearing about all our lives, maybe a day or two's travel away, and we've never even seen it."

Ashura smiled. "Well, when you figure out all the details I'd be happy to go on this little adventure." She turned and bent to gather her belongings: a sheathed knife, two small pouches for coins and various accessories, and the belt that she attached those to. "In the meantime I think I'll tend to morningfeast and then get to my chores."

"Ugh," Imoen frowned. "Don't remind me. Puffguts has me mopping the whole bleeding kitchen today."

The pair descended a few flights of stairs down to the outer courtyard and parted ways, Ashura finding her way to the barracks. Sparring with the Watchers of Candelkeep was a favorite pastime of hers, but today she was given more mundane tasks. After a quick morningfeast she was sent to fetch a quarrel of crossbow bolts for Fuller and deliver a sword to Hull. The two guards were apparently hung-over and had gone to their posts without full kit.

When she found Hull at the main gate he chided her for being lazy and slow. She rolled her eyes and tossed the sword at his feet, chuckling to herself as he nearly toppled over in his platemail trying to fish it from the dirt. Years ago at a Greengrass festival Hull had been the first boy Ashura kissed, and judging by his relentless teasing he still seemed to have a bit of a crush. These days she preferred knocking the boy on his ass in the training yard to kissing.

Chores chores chores.

Hull sent her to deliver medicine to the man who managed the stables (apparently it was for his 'prize winning' cow.) From the stables she delivered a book to a forgetful scholar named Phlydia (it was buried in a hay pile, which gave Ashura some suspicions,) and from there she was directed to the laundry to fetch fresh linens for the bunkhouse.

With crisp sheets piled high in her arms Ashura made her way along the path, her chores sending her full circuit around the outer courtyard of the citadel. She was starting to hope that Imoen came up with her escape plan sooner rather than later.

A strange sight stopped Ashura in her tracks. Her foster father was running through the courtyard towards her, the elderly scholar's robes billowing. Despite his age Gorion's breath was almost unaffected by the sprint. "So glad I found you," he began.

Ashura raised an eyebrow behind her pile of laundry. "Is something wrong father?"

Through his long white beard Ashura thought she saw Gorion open his mouth then close it and pause. When he did reply his words were measured. "We need to leave Candlekeep, I'm afraid. I will explain everything as soon as there is time." He offered Ashura a small pouch that clinked with the sound of coin. "Here," he said, "this should be enough for you to equip yourself for travel. Purchase what you need from Winthrop's shop and then find me at the central library."

Before Ashura could stammer out another question the old sage whirled around and quickly marched off. For a moment she just stood there in shock. Hours ago she had been thinking about running away from the drab citadel, but this hardly felt like a wish come true. Gorion had been pensive and distant for weeks, and she had never seen him as shaken as he looked today.

Shaking her head Ashura hugged the linens to her chest and walked the last half-dozen steps to the bunkhouse. With her elbow and foot she managed the door and swung into the dark room.

As the door creaked shut she looked up and stopped, unsure. There was a man in the room. A stranger with disheveled blonde hair and ragged, rough-spun clothes. And he was rapidly closing the distance between them.

A pace away the stranger stopped and gave Ashura a wide, toothy smile. "Ya'lo miss." He had a thick accent she couldn't place. Waterdevian maybe?

Ashura narrowed her eyes and did not respond. After a beat the stranger broke the silence. "You're Gorion's little whelp aren't you?"

"Little _what_?" She glared.

"Well ya are," he said with a slight shrug. "Don't worry. I won't be here long." He was easing his way closer and Ashura found herself backing towards the door. "And neither will you. Hehehe. You've a pretty face but I don't see what the fuss is about." The dagger left its sheath with a faint swish as the man raised it over his head and lunged.

The coin purse clattered on the floorboards as Ashura lifted the stack of sheets to meet the tip of the blade. There was a ripping noise as the dagger sank into the fabric. Before the man could pull back Ashura pressed forward and stamped down as hard as she could on his foot. The stranger managed to keep the grip on his dagger as he stumbled back.

Ashura tossed the pile of linens in his face and yanked her knife from her belt. At the same time she reached forward with her left hand, snatching the man's wrist. She yanked, he squirmed, and she drove her knife into his unprotected stomach. His lips were at her ear as he shuddered and gave a ragged gasp, letting go of his own dagger.

Pulling back Ashura stabbed the man again and again, tilting the weapon up and driving it into his chest, frantically hacking and twisting with the blade. Another loud gasp and another, then the man was dead weight leaning against her. She backed up and he fell forward, flat on his face. Blood poured out onto the floor and pooled around the man's still body.

The bunkhouse door groaned ever so slightly behind Ashura. She spun, knife raised and ready as her eyes met those of a gaunt elven man. He was dressed in the same sort of rough-spun wool as the other stranger. And he held a dagger, out and aimed at Ashura's chest.

And he was charging. _Shit!_

Twisting as the dagger narrowly swished past her chest Ashura managed to catch the elf's wrist. She yanked him closer as she drove the point of her knife into his slender neck. His eyes popped open wide and his mouth did the same but no words came.

Ashura's hand was showered with hot blood as she yanked the knife out and stabbed again, hoping she'd catch a vein or artery this time if she hadn't the first. The elf sank to his knees, defensively gripping his wounds as an inhuman sound left his throat.

Backing up until she pressed against the wall, Ashura watched the elf. It took mere heartbeats for him to grow wobbly and then fully collapse, bleeding out.

Ashura's hands began to tremble and she looked down at them. Both hands and her entire right arm were drenched in red, flecked here and there with black. She gave the door a suspicious look. Were there more?

She tried to shake it off, knowing that she had to keep moving. The smell of blood, bile and voided bowels that was growing in the room spurred her towards the fallen coin purse, then the door.

After a few strides through the sunlight she was stopped by an elderly monk in dull yellow robes. Parda, the old man who had tutored her in reading and history. "Ashura?" he asked, "is that blood? Has Sergeant Reevor been sending you after rats in the cellars again?"

She shook her head.

Parda frowned. "I suspected as much." He placed a feather-light hand upon her bicep and gently guided her towards a rain barrel.

Using a pail Ashura splashed water on her arms, face and neck, then dumped the rest onto her head, soaking her hair and bloodstained tunic. "Men I've never seen before attacked me with knives," she explained, shivering. "Their bodies are in the bunkhouse." She turned to Parda. "They were looking for me. 'Gorion's whelp.' I…don't know why." She bit back more words as panic entered her voice.

Parda placed a soothing finger against her lips. "Hush child. It's okay. But you must prepare for your journey and be off quickly."

"You…you know about that?"

He nodded. "Please hurry. You're in great danger here."

So she hurried.

* * *

"Now that's an odd choice for a respectable young lady such as yourself," Winthrop teased as Ashura tested the weight of a pair of short swords. Ignoring him she cut the air a few times before sliding the weapons back into their lambskin sheaths.

They were standing in the section of the Candlekeep Inn that served as a general store tended by the fat, jolly man along with Imoen and his three true daughters. When she first arrived the Winthrop had teased Ashura about her first time in the general store requiring a five thousand gold admittance fee but had gotten no reaction.

"A bit of a warning," Winthrop said as it became clear Ashura was going to buy the swords. "There've been all sorts of headaches recently with the quality of the steel that passes up and down the coast. It's a good thing yer taking two of those swords, since I can't guarantee the weapons won't break."

"Lovely," Ashura muttered as she admired a fine chainmail shirt. When she asked about the armor she found that Winthrop was asking for more gold than all of her funds. He directed her to the store's collection of leathers instead. First she picked out a pair of boots that fit her, then a thick tunic of boiled leather armor that was reinforced by steel studs and thickly padded on the inside.

"This will do, I think," Ashura said as she whipped her belt away and shed her tunic. Winthrop turned away as she slipped into the leathers and tightened the new tunic's belt, flexing and shifting about. Yeah, that fit. Finally she picked out a pair of studded leather bracers.

With the remaining funds Ashura purchased a sturdy backpack and a light woolen bedroll. Next she went to filling that backpack, purchasing a sharpening stone and flint firekit, several lengths of hemp string and a cord of thicker rope, some strips of fresh linen cloth in assorted sizes and finally a few pouches of dried fruit, grain and a few strips of salted beef.

There were four gold coins and a little silver left in her coin pouch when Ashura left Winthrop's and took one last walk along the inner wall of Candlekeep. She passed through the inner gate and into the gardens where birdsong and the soft trickle of the fountains greeted her. Flowers of a dozen hues lined the tiled walkways, rising from the earth or hanging in careful arrangements from manicured shrubs.

Imoen was sitting on the lip of one of the fountains. She greeted Ashura as she approached with a toothy smile and a "Heya!"

"Aren't you supposed to be mopping?" Ashura asked.

"Snuck off," Imoen said matter-of-factly. "I've got all day to do my chores but…"

"I'm going on a journey with my father. But you already know that don't you?"

"Ya huh," Imoen said as she scooted off the fountain. They walked together through the garden. "You're lucky, finally getting to travel just like we were talking 'bout this morning. Sure are. Real lucky. Yes sir."

Ashura wrapped an arm around Imoen's shoulder, giving her friend a slight squeeze. "Message received. I'll ask Gorion if you can come along."

"Don't be silly. He'd never even let you finish the sentence. Not after what that letter said."

"Huh?"

"Did I say anything about a letter? I didn't say nothing." They had reached the steps that led into the great library. Gorion stood at the top, arms crossed and face impassive.

Imoen turned and the two exchanged a quick hug. "Well, you take care on the road Shura," Imoen said, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

"I'll be fine. I'm sure you'll get to travel soon."

"One way or another," Imoen said with her usual mischievous grin before scurrying off.

With a deep breath Ashura took the last couple of steps. "I'm ready father."

The old sage nodded and led the way through the garden and towards the gate of the inner yard. Ashura fell into step beside him and as he walked he spoke. Even at his most affectionate her father always sounded formal, with careful enunciation and diction. "I apologize," he said without a hint of emotion, "for not being fully forthcoming about our destination or the reason for our flight. For your own safety it is best I tell you only what you absolutely need to know." At the great gate he stopped briefly, turning and looking into her eyes.

"Trust me," Gorion implored. "As soon as there is time and I feel that we are safe I will tell you everything." She found herself gulping and gave a nod. "Just know for now," Gorion continued, "that we are heading to the Friendly Arm Inn to the northeast. There we will meet Khalid and Jaheira. They have long been my friends, and you can trust them." With that he turned and hurried them along beneath the portcullis and out into the wider world.

* * *

The sun had long set and the sage and his foster-daughter had long left the open road for the deep shadows of the forest. They managed a decent pace thanks to a brightly waxing moon overhead and light underbrush. Ashura's feet caught on the occasional vine or shrub, and twice now she had tripped on a hidden hole left behind by long dead trees. She envied the way Gorion seemed to instinctively dodge the obstacles.

They had not exchanged words for a long while but it was clear her father intended for them to travel the night, and perhaps then some. That was fine. Ashura felt wide awake after the terrifying encounter in the bunkhouse. Who were those men? Did they serve some old enemy of Gorion's? He had never spoken directly of it but the old man seemed to have been some sort of adventurer before he retired to Candlekeep. When she was younger he used to tell her stories of fantastic places and exotic monsters and there was something about his matter-of-fact descriptions that made her think he had seen these things first hand.

The light brush and thick tree trunks suddenly fell away as they came upon a wide clearing. Under the silver light of Selune Ashura could see stones laid out across the earth in even patterns. The patterns formed wheels with clear spokes and hubs, perhaps marking some ancient burial ground. Gorion's pace never slowed as they walked among the stones.

As they approached the far end of the clearing Gorion startled her by suddenly stopping and barring her way with an arm. "Wait," he said with a quick, harsh whisper. His head slowly turned, eying the tree line. "There is an ambush ahead. Prepare yourself."

Ashura's swords found their way into her hands. She scanned the dark places between the trees. Nothing. Dead silence.

Then the sound of crunching wood echoed through the clearing, sudden and loud. Ashura's heart lurched and she gripped her swords tighter. At the edge of the wood branches snapped and fell as two massive figures lurched from the shadows. The creatures had the shape of men but were nearly nine feet tall with muscular frames to match. Moonlight glinted off their bald pates and the small tusks that protruded from their mouths.

Full ogres! They wore simple wool shirts and trousers and carried massive spiked warmaces, one handed.

Between the ogres two shorter armored figures emerged from the forest. One was far shorter than the other, armored in smooth black platemail with a cut that seemed vaguely feminine and long black hair.

The other figure was tall and broad, dressed head to toe in a suit of full plate decorated with baroque spikes at the gauntlets and shoulders. His helmet was even more stylized; shaped like a skull with a wide gaping mouth that served as a visor, lined with sharp teeth and topped with long horns. A second set of horns curved from the side of the helmet, giving the appearance of tusks. Behind the mask there seemed to be a fiery glow to the man's eyes. He held a greatsword loosely in one gauntleted hand.

When he spoke the armored man's voice was deep and booming: "Hand over the girl and you can walk away, old man."

Ashura gasped. They were after…_her_?

"You well know I have no intention of doing that," Gorion responded as he stepped forward, protectively blocking the path to his daughter.

The tip of the armored man's sword pointed at the old sage. "Very well then," the man growled.

As the ogres began to stomp forward Gorion turned and hissed at Ashura: "Run child! I will hold them off."

"But-"

"Run!"

The armored woman was singing something unintelligible. _A spell!_ Ashura realized it just as the night was lit by a bright red glow; a bolt of flame that shot across the field at dazzling speed. The bolt struck her shoulder with a hiss and its force spun Ashura's body. She sank to her knees and pressed a fist against her burning flesh, gasping in pain.

Gorion was singing as well now, in the tell-tale chant of a magic spell. As Ashura found her feet she felt her hair stand and smelled ozone as a sharp crackle hissed and grew into a dazzling flash and thunderclap behind her. One of the ogres bellowed.

One foot stumbled in front of the other and then Ashura was running. Another crackle and boom from behind drove her on. She felt a wave of searing heat at her back and flames lit the night.

When she reached the far end of the field and placed a hand against a nearby tree trunk Ashura dared a look over her shoulder. She could see the charred, unmoving form of at least one of the ogres and the girl and the other ogre were gone. Gorion stood where he had been. His hands wove their way through the air, and the man in spiked armor was a few paces away. Advancing fast.

Red bolts of pure energy erupted from Gorion's fingertips, flying at the armored man in wave after wave. Sparks flew as the bolts struck the man's armor, but his pace never slowed. There was another storm of bolts with no effect and then the armored figure slashed out with his greatsword. The old sage stumbled back as the blade struck some invisible barrier. Another slash and there was a waver in the air as Gorion sunk to one knee. The armored figure reared back, aiming his sword again, and stabbed, running Gorion through.

Ashura turned from the sight, bile rising in her throat as she found herself leaning against the tree. She choked it back, pressed the pommel of her sword against the tree, and plunged into the forest. Branches clung to her and stung her face. She pushed and kicked her way through the bramble, running in sheer terror.


	2. Chapter 2 - Babes in the Wood

**2 – Babes in the Wood**

_"Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your mind-controlled slaves far out in front to act as goblin fodder."_ – Attributed to Zulkir Lauzoril of Thay

* * *

With a frightened start Ashura came awake. She found that she was already gripping her swords and had them pointed in front of her. It was still dark in the hollowed tree trunk, but the dim blue light of predawn was making its way through the cracks. She hadn't meant to doze off. The dead tree was just a place to hide and wait out the night after hours of running through the darkness.

After shaking herself fully awake she carefully crawled forward and then climbed out of the shelter and onto her feet. It was brightening out but still far from dawn. Good. She hadn't slept long.

The floor of the old growth forest looked different in the light, and she felt disoriented. As best she could judge from the opening in the hallow tree and the direction of the light she had come running from the north. The road was somewhere to the…east maybe? As good a direction as any to start in.

Ashura tried to walk softly for a time but her feet kept finding twigs to crunch, and eventually she gave up and just trudged along, her eyes constantly sweeping. Time passed and no pursuers appeared. There was nothing but the cheerful sound of the morning birds and the rustle of leaves in the Mirtul wind.

By the time the sun had fully crested the treetops Ashura came upon a break in the forest. She cautiously approached, at first thinking it was another field. Getting closer she saw the large cobbled stones of a road. The Way of the Lion. _Huh_. She'd been right.

Ashura crouched against a tree and carefully poked her head out, looking up and down the roadway. She gripped her swords tighter as she spotted a figure. Short, slender, female, carrying a strung shortbow and dressed in a distinct set of purple leggings and matching blouse. The figure wore a purple traveling cloak as well, topped with red hair. Ashura cautiously stepped out from hiding.

The girl on the road spotted her instantly, let out a yelp and ran forward. There was a relieved look on her face.

"Ims?" Ashura asked. "Is that really you?"

"Of course!" Imeon shouted. "Shura! I thought I'd lost you." The bow clattered to the ground as Imoen wrapped her arms around Ashura in a tight hug.

"Lost?"

"Ya." Imoen stepped back. "I uh, was following you guys. I was going to keep my distance, make sure you were alright, maybe introduce myself when old Mr. G wasn't around." She looked at the ground. "But then he…well. Some job I did protecting you huh?"

"So you saw the battle?"

"Not really. I was keeping back when I saw the fireballs. When I got to the clearing I just saw Gorion…his body. I'm so sorry."

"Were there other bodies?"

Imoen bit her lip thoughtfully. "Well, two big ones. Pretty charred but I think they were ogres."

"But no man or woman in heavy armor?"

Imoen shook her head. "No sign of you neither, so there was hope."

"So there was." Ashura sighed and leaned back against the sturdy trunk of a poplar tree. Looking up at Imoen she said: "You can g-"

"No way!" Imoen interrupted. "And I'm not hearing anymore of that. I'm going with you whether you like it or not. You're stuck with me. Yes sir."

Ashura chuckled slightly and shrugged. "Fair enough." She pushed herself off of the tree and stepped onto the road. "We were headed to the Friendly Arm Inn to meet some friends of Gorion. I guess that's our best bet for some answers."

"That's uh, north across the Coast Way, I think," Imoen said, eying the road. "Well, let's get started."

* * *

Both Imoen and Ashura gasped in shock as the large grey wolf barred its teeth and snarled. A bend in the road had brought them within a few paces of the beast, and it looked none too pleased. Ashura whipped her swords from their sheaths and pointed them at the wolf. "Get back!" she shouted.

The wolf didn't seem startled, and continued to snarl as it padded to the side, circling. Ashura pivoted, following the animal's motion. "I said get back!" She snarled right back at it raising an arm and preparing to slash if the creature charged.

There was a blurry motion on Ashura's periphery as something wet and heavy hooked into her forearm and dragged it down. She was pulled off balance and her knees hit the stone of the highway. _A second wolf!_ Its teeth were latched into her arm, biting at the edge of her bracer and into flesh at her elbow. The beast twisted its head, worrying with its mouth.

The first wolf charged, gleaming teeth and slobber closing on Ashura's face. There was a twang and a satisfying yelp as an arrow lodged in the wolf's broad side and gave it pause.

Ashura rolled under the beast that was latched to her arm, bashing at its head with the pommel of her left-hand sword. The blows did little good but as they struggled on the ground she managed to find an effective angle to turn her sword and stab at the wolf's underside. The blade sank deep and the wolf let go briefly before pressing down at her, furiously biting and snapping, a blur of fur and teeth and claws.

There was a trickle of blood on Ashura's cheek as teeth grazed her face and she frantically scrambled backwards and leapt to her feet. Before she could retaliate with her swords an arrow lodged into the wolf's neck and it sank to the ground with an ear-piercing whine. As it did Ashura felt teeth dig into her thigh and a heavy presence behind her, pushing her forward and threatening her balance again.

Furious, she whirled around and slammed the pommel of one sword against the head of the wolf. Two more hard bashes to the top of its head and the beast's bite loosened. She aimed her second sword as it did and lunged, stabbing it through the eye. As the wolf shuddered and grew still Ashura whirled around, watching the trees and the bushes.

There was silence.

Time passed and nothing stirred. Ashura yanked her sword from the dead wolf and wobbled in an uneasy battle-stance. "Just two wolves?" she asked.

"Dunno," Imoen said. She kept an arrow knocked. "Sure was enough wolf for me."

After a few moments of silence they relaxed slightly and dug some of the linen strips from Ashura's pack, which they used to wrap around her wounds. The bite on the arm was the deepest, the cut across her face superficial. Her leg ached from the bite on her thigh but luckily no arterial blood leaked and she could still walk straight. "When I bought the linen for my kit I was thinking about my time of the moon and the need for handkerchiefs," Ashura said. "Not bloody wolves in broad daylight."

Imoen had swiped a few healing potions when she left Candlekeep, but Ashura declined them for now. Instead she attached a potion to her belt to be used if there was a life-or-death injury and suggesting that Imoen do the same. Soon they were cautiously walking the road again. Ashura hobbled a bit at first, wincing in pain from step to step before she got used to it.

The road went on and the sun rose higher in the sky, marking late morning. The path bent, winding north for a while, then back to the east. At one of the bends stood a large stone marker with a clear arrow and the word 'Candlekeep' written across in Thorass script.

Two male figures sat against the marker enjoying a small meal. As Ashura and Imoen cautiously approached the figures rose to their feet, one tall and twig-thin, the other stocky and short as a human child. A closer look and Ashura realized that the shorter one was hardly childlike; he had broad shoulders, a thick build, and wore armor of interlocking leather sheets and a sword at his hip. The short man's face was weathered and scarred in a few spots, and there was a mop of unruly dark hair on his head. A halfling or gnome she guessed (how do you tell the difference anyway? She'd never read a book that rightly explained that.)

The taller man seemed human, though nearly as gaunt as an elf and finely dressed in sturdy green traveler's clothes. There was some sort of crest depicting a dragon on his vest and beneath he wore a billowing shirt with matching trousers and black boots. The look of nobility ended with the clothes though. Black face paint accented the man's eyes with lines that looked like long tears, and there was paint around his lips that seemed to extend his smile. Two lines of dots were drawn across the man's forehead, and combined with his wildly disheveled, sandy-brown hair the paint gave the man a clown-like appearance. The manic gleam in his eye and exaggerated bow that he gave Ashura and Imoen didn't help either.

"You poor children," he said in a sing-song voice as she stepped forward. "Are you lost? These woods are no place for you to roam."

"Definitely not," the short man said gruffly as he munched on an apple. "This be a risky road, 'specially these days. They look scuffed up a bit too."

"We're fine," Ashura snarled, resting a hand on the hilt of her sword.

The human waved a calming hand. "Oh Montey," he said to the shorter man, "stop being such a bore." He raised his hands; palms open, and addressed the young women. "We're not bandits, if that's what you fear. Just travelers, much as you." He pulled a bottle that contained a bright blue liquid from his pockets. "Here. Aan altruistic gesture. A healing potion. For whatever's under those bandages."

Ashura's eyes stayed narrow but she carefully took the bottle from his hand.

"Oh come now, it's perfectly safe," the man sang. "I _suggest_ you trust me." He gave her a winning smile and despite everything Ashura found herself smiling back. Before she knew it she had unstopped and downed the blue liquid. She expected bitterness but it actually tasted a little flowery. A warm itch seemed to run through her body and she shivered, resisting the urge to scratch at her bandages. As the itch faded so did the dull ache of her burnt shoulder and the sharp pains in her arm and thigh. She checked beneath one of the bandages and found that under the crusted blood the wound had closed.

"Thank you," Ashura said with a whisper.

"Xzar," the man replied. "That's my name at least. My little companion is named Montey."

"That's Montaron," the short man barked. "One day yer gonna use that pet name a time too many."

Xzar ignored his partner and continued to smile his over-wide smile. "Now," he said, "there's no reason to repay my sacrifice of that most delicious potion, but perhaps your conscious will urge you to assist us in something."

"Uh," Imoen stepped forward, nudging Ashura with an elbow and giving her an uncertain look. "We don't need to help you with anything. Honestly we have business up the road. And you're a little too smooth." She looked askance at Ashura and in a lower voice murmured. "I mean really, these guys are kinda…"

With a jolly and dismissive wave of his hand Xzar laughed . "Oh pish!" he said. "We're completely harmless and trustworthy. I _suggest_ you realize that."

"Hrm," Imoen considered. Suspicion was replaced by a ponderous look.

"Now to my offer," Xzar spoke quickly. "My partner and I are on something of a diplomatic mission looking into the iron crisis that plagues the coast."

"Iron crisis?" Ashura asked.

"My, you are sheltered aren't you? Yes, for some reason the iron in this region has suddenly become all brittle and breaksy. Swords shatter on shields and plows kept breaking in the fields this sowing season. Terrible business, those poor poor farmers."

Montaron snorted. "Plight of dirt diggers," he said sarcastically. "Sad stuff indeed."

"You may not care," Xzar said dismissively, "but our masters do. Or at least they wish to learn what is destroying the iron, lest the same fate befall them. So we're traveling to the town of Nashkel where the crumbling iron seems to be mined, to meet with the mayor and offer our," he did a quick courtly bow, "assistance."

Xzar then tilted his head and gave Ashura an appraising look. "You seem fit and strong, and I trust you know how to use those swords?" Ashura responded with the slightest of nods as Xzar turned to Imoen and asked "And you're a decent shot with that bow?"

"Dunno," she said. "I did just kill a wolf with it." She smiled proudly at that.

That seemed enough for Xzar, who clapped and with a manic grin said "Good then. You see, the roads are rough these days, brimming with bandits and worse. For our little mission we could use some bodyguards. We'll pay handsomely of course."

"That's ah…quite a thing to ask," Ashura muttered.

"Seems a fine occupation for armed vagabonds," Xzar said with a shrug.

Imoen and Ashura shared a glance. "That's what we are I guess," Imoen said. "Might as well."

Ashura nodded. "Okay. I guess we might as well. For now."

Xzar clapped his hands again. "Excellent!" he sang. "We're heading for the Friendly Arm Inn to stock up for the journey south and meet with a contact of ours."

"Aye," Montaron muttered. "They say the place has the finest bath houses in these parts, steamin' and everything. We been pushin' through the wilderness near a tenday and some washing and airing out is damned long overdue."

"Oh," Ashura said with a frown. "We were going to meet some people at the Friendly Arm." Why hadn't she remembered that before?

Xzar gave her a strange look. "Really? Oh. Well," the manic tone returned to his voice, "that's what Friendly Arms are for. Shall we be off?" Without waiting for acknowledgement he turned and began down the road.

Ashura continued frowning as she found herself falling in step behind the strange man in green. Khalid and Jaheira. Her father's old friends. She had been about to forget her father's last instructions and set out on an adventure into the unknown. Then again maybe it didn't matter. She knew nothing except for those two names and a place. Maybe one direction was as good as any other, when you're just an armed vagabond lost in the woods.

In the end she just blamed it on the confusing whirlwind the past two days had been and walked on.

* * *

The crossroads at the end of the Way of the Lion was marked by a tall standing stone decorated with whorls and ornate patterns. Arrows directing to the Friendly Arm, Candelkeep and Beregost were carved into various faces of the monolith. Tittering sounds from behind the stone broke the silence of the road as Ashura and Imoen approached. Imoen knocked an arrow and Ashura drew her swords, their pace slowing.

"Identify yourselves!" Ashura shouted.

No response save more tittering. Then several blue-skinned, goblin-like creatures stepped out from behind the pillar, each about the size of a halfling. The creatures grinned manically, small swords in hand. They were dressed in simple rags, and their heads were oversized and bald. Two…five…Ashura counted at least eight of the little things as they fanned out. One of them issued a high pitched cry and then without hesitation they charged, rushing across the cobbles on their stumpy little legs, swords ready for blood.

Imoen's bow sang and one of the goblinoids dropped, grasping at an arrow in his chest. Then the little creatures reached Ashura and she found herself turning and hopping around as she tried to avoid half a dozen swords. She managed to stab one of the creatures through its massive skull, delivering a kick to disengage her weapon as her other sword swept and parried.

Something stung at Ashura's lower back and she whirled, slashing back and slicing a wide gash across one of the goblinoid's necks. It sank to its knees, grasping at the wound. With an underhanded stab she skewered another on her sword, kicking its shoulder as she tried to yank her weapon free. There was a loud snap as most of the sword broke off inside the dying creature's chest.

"Shit!" Ashura gasped as she hopped back, two of the little goblin swords missing her by a finger's width. She held her broken sword behind her and kept her good weapon between herself and the rest of the creatures.

There was a quick, faint ripple through the air that gave Ashura gooseflesh, and the fearless little beasts stopped advancing. A change came across their faces. Their eyes were suddenly wide and their heads swiveled back and forth frantically, then as one they let out an inhuman scream and turned to flee.

Ashura managed to hook a foot under the nearest fleeing creature's ankle and it hit the cobblestones head-first. She followed through with a decisive stab to its back then chased another creature down and felled it with a couple of slashes, the last one to the neck. The last of the moving goblinoid's fell to the ground a few paces from her, two arrows in its back. She glanced around to see if any had escaped but counted two more unmoving creatures with arrows sticking out. All dead by her estimate.

Behind the young women Xzar clapped his hands. "See!" he shouted gleefully. "A fine job you pair did guarding our bodies. And Montaron had his doubts."

With a giggle Ashura turned back and gave Xzar a proud smile.

"I suppose you know the iron crisis now," Xzar remarked as he nodded at her broken sword.

"Yeah," Ashura said, tossing the hilt away. "Bought the damn thing yesterday." She turned to the corpses of the goblins and picked out a replacement sword; crude and nicked but the best of the bunch.

A ponderous frown crossed her face as she squatted there examining the weapon. She had never been the giggling type before. Why was she tittering like a milkmaid at this stranger's compliments and bad jokes? He certainly looked the part of a clown but...

Not to mention that Xzar and Montaron had stood back while her and Imoen did the dirty work of killing those goblins. She had even taken a slash to the back, though feeling the spot it seemed the creature's sword hadn't broken through her armor and it would leave little beyond a nasty bruise. On the other hand the goblins had obviously been hit by some sort of fear spell, and the halfling was too heavily armored to be a spell-slinger. She had taken Xzar for an eccentric fop, but apparently he was also some sort of mage. Should have known, if half the stories are to be believed those two roles are hardly mutually exclusive. _Hm_.

Imoen was squatting beside Ashura now, searching the corpses and fishing out some coins and plain jewelry that was probably pillaged from less fortunate travelers. She showed off a shiny ring and necklace to Ashura like they were the crown jewels of Tethyr.

"You're such a magpie Ims," Ashura said, shaking her head.

Finished with the dead creatures they got to their feet and turned back to the northern road.

* * *

The sun had long set on their second day of travel by the time they caught sight of the Friendly Arm Inn. Montaron and Xzar carried a tent but the previous night had been clear and the four had slept under the stars. Ashura and Imoen had been introduced to some of the nuances of camping out in the wilderness they hadn't learned on childhood trips, namely keeping a rotating watch and picking a campsite that would be hard for bandits to spot.

The "inn" was actually a fully walled fortress, complete with a dry moat and drawbridge. Lightly armored guards lounged beneath the gate and more patrolled in the grassy courtyard beyond. Draped at either side of the gate were long banners that depicted an arm holding a blue flag aloft.

"For a place called the 'Friendly Arm' this sure is intimidating," Imoen remarked as they passed under the spikes of the portcullis.

"They say its cozy enough inside," Montaron said with a shrug. "And damned secure. Think I'm gonna find the bathouse first off. Haven't had a good steam in ages." He wandered off through the various outbuildings in the courtyard and Xzar wordlessly followed. Montaron scowled over his shoulder. "You needn't be attached to my backside at all hours!" he growled.

"Worry not Monty," Xzar replied, "I'll keep a respectful distance. Just have to make sure you don't get in trouble. Orders are orders."

With an exasperated sigh Montaron walked on, following a sign that pointed to the baths. Imoen and Ashura walked past, heading towards the central keep. Welcoming lights shone from every story of the building. As they drew closer the faint murmur of many voices and the rhythms of music and song drifted down from the windows of the keep. A friendly guard pointed them towards the taproom, explaining that it was up a single flight of wide stone steps on the second story of the building.

As the pair approached those steps a man who had been leaning against the wall at the top took notice and began to glide down the stairs. He looked to be middle aged, a hint of grey at his temples, fit and thin and dressed in modest but well made traveler's cloths. As they mounted the first few steps the stranger gave Ashura a warm smile.

"Greetings young ladies," he said in a deep and resonant voice. "Might I ask from whence you hail?"

Ashura gave the slightest of shrugs. "Nowhere in particular. Just vagabonds."

The man shook his head. "No. I…I get the distinct impression that you hail from Candlekeep."

Before Ashura could say anything Imoen gave a cheery reply. "Maybe we do. We're supposed to meet some friends here at the Friendly Arm. You wouldn't happen to be Khalid would you?"

The man's smile brightened and Ashura found herself tensing, hand hovering over the hilt of a sword. There was something off.

"Indeed that is my name, and indeed I think we're going to be great friends," the man said. There was something about his eyes…they brightened, gleaming with unnatural light. Ashura found that she couldn't look away, couldn't move. Her heart quickened.

"I don't know who you are, little redhead," the man continued, "but I recognize Ashura here. I have something for her. Fear not, you'll hardly feel a thing." With that his fingers began to dance and beneath his breath he began to chant.

A bowstring thumped and an arrow shot over Ashura's shoulder, striking an unseen barrier near the man's chest and clanking to the steps. Instantly she was shaken out of her hypnotic fugue, either from the shock of an arrow zipping past her ear or the disruption it caused to the man's spell. Her swords leapt from their sheaths. She lunged.

Both swords slashed in unison and struck the barrier, faltering then pushing through. She managed to draw two shallow slashes across the man's coat and sent him stumbling back up the stairs. He kept his footing, hopping up and up.

"So you're going to be feisty about it?" he snarled as he danced backwards. "That's fine. _Fiel siev faeda_."

In a dazzling flash the man seemed to divide into two, then four identical version of himself. Ashura slashed out at the spot she thought he had been standing when he began the spell but her swords just met empty air as one of the illusory men flickered out. Imoen loosed another arrow but it also passed through illusion.

As they attacked the fakes the hands of every duplicate wove round and round, the man's voice singing another spell. There was a crackle between his palms, then a sharp boom that split the night air. Ashura gasped and leaped to the side. There was a blinding flash of light and an explosive boom somewhere behind her. She felt a sting somewhere along her flanks as chunks of stone rained down around her and bounced off the steps.

Ashura forced herself to her feet. There was a smoking hole in the wall nearby, and Imoen was lying prone on the steps farther down. The stranger was down to two images, one real and one illusory. As the man pointed a finger at Ashura and opened his mouth she charged up the steps and drove both swords into the leftward image. Her plan was to slash out at the right one next, but she felt a satisfying connection as the swords sank into real flesh.

The stranger's eyes bulged and he gasped, struggling as Ashura shoved and shoved with her weapons. As he let out a raw-throated sigh the man sank further onto Ashura's swords and then slumped against her. She struggled to support the weight as she felt a few shudders run through his body. Then he was still.

With a grunt and a shove Ashura pushed the man away. His body slid off her swords and onto the steps, eyes wide and staring at nothing. She took a few steps back. "What in the Nine Hells was that about?" she panted, wondered aloud.

"Good question," a gruff voice behind her barked. She whirled around and there near the bottom of the steps stood three guards. Their faces were grim and two had crossbows out and ready. Between them Imoen sat on a step, rubbing her head. The blast from the thunderclap had knocked her off her feet but there were no visible injuries.

"Uh," Ashura lowered her swords. "He attacked us."

"Says you," one of the guards growled back. "We brook no trouble here."

"I wasn't looking for trouble," Ashura growled right back. She found the crossbows trained squarely at her chest and one of the guards coughed. With a sigh Ashura dropped her swords. They hit the steps with a clang, along with Imoen's bow.

The guards cautiously climbed the steps, eying the body. Imoen walked past it and stood beside Ashura, reaching over and squeezing her arm. A moment later a fourth guard arrived, jogging up the steps. She wore heavier armor than the others; a combination of boiled leather and thick strips of steel, and the other guards inclined their heads to her. The woman's hair was blonde and cut boyishly short and her face was crisscrossed with scars. "A fight eh?" the newcomer asked. "Don't suppose anyone saw who threw the first blow?"

The other three guards shook their heads. "No captain," one admitted.

The woman walked up further, inspecting the black singe marks and hole in the wall. "Quite a fight too, complete with spell-slinging." She walked over to the body, nudging it with her toe and frowning. As she peered down her frown deepened. "Did you know this man?" she asked in Imoen and Ashura's direction.

The pair both shook their heads. "No idea who he is," Ashura volunteered. "He just asked my name and when I told him he attacked. Cast some sort of dazzling spell, then," she motioned towards the scar on the wall, "worse." She winced a bit from the motion, noticing all the little aches in her body as adrenaline faded. Reaching around she pulled a jagged piece of stone from her backside. It was pebble-sized but sharp, and a little bloody. Her armor felt singed around the place it had bit into. "Nearly hit me too." She dropped the bit of debris and carefully dislodged another and another. _Ouch_.

The captain chuckled. "I see." She turned back to the body, squatting over him and humming to herself. The hum turned into a whistle. "Yep," she said. "This is Tarnesh. Definitely him." She looked up and studied the young women's faces.

Ashura shrugged. "Who's that?"

"Well known assassin on the coast. Had a run in with him once when I was guarding caravans. Bastard toasted some little noble girl who was traveling with us then vanished. Real good with illusions. Seems like you did us all a favor." She gave Ashura an even look in the eye. "We have a problem though."

Ashura gave her a blank look.

"My job's to keep trouble out of the Mirrorshades' house. Letting someone with assassins after them under the roof kind of runs counter to that."

Ashura sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.

"So assassins are after you?" the captain asked.

"Apparently," Ashura snapped. After the guardswoman made a questioning gesture with her hands she added "Don't blood know why."

"I get the impression he's not the first though," the captain pressed.

"I don't know," Ashura said, shaking her head. "My father was killed last night by strangers on the road. I escaped but I guess they want to kill me too, whoever they are. We were supposed to meet some friends here at the Inn and we were hoping they'd have some answers."

"Who are you meeting?"

"Khalid and Jaheira."

The captain's eyes shot open and she looked taken aback. "Oh." After a pause she said "I see. So you're one of those folks who…" She made a pantomiming gesture, as if she were holding a small harp and plucking the strings.

Imoen and Ashura both just looked at her like she was crazy.

"Guess not," said the captain. "Hm. Well, as long as you don't cause any trouble you can go in and meet with them. I stay out of the business of those who…" She made the plucking gesture again.

"Uh, okay. No trouble, we promise." Ashura squatted, gesturing towards her swords and asked "Can we..?

The captain nodded slightly. "Just keep 'em sheathed."

The taproom of the Friendly Arm Inn was well lit and immense, probably the feasthall of the keep before it was converted. Smoke clung to the high rafters and the room was thick with the cloying smell of pipes and spilt ale. Most of the tables were occupied and the loud hum of conversation echoed off the walls. Above the din of the patrons rang a lively musical jig from a fife, drum and vocal company in one corner of the room. One of the minstrels, a woman, was singing a wordless song in a high but pleasant pitch, a sort of "La ti da da, ti da da, ti da da."

A waitress directed Ashura and Imoen to a table in the corner where two men and a woman sat. They all had their eyes fixed on the young women in an instant, and exchanged whispers as they approached. As the pair weaved their way through the crowd one of the men rose to his feet. He was a weather-worn fellow in drab grey and orange traveling cloths. Over the din Ashura half-heard and half-saw him mouth the words "I'll take my leave."

"Very well, Jopi," the woman said with a thick Tetheryn accent.

As the common looking man passed Imoen and Ashura he gave them a warm smile and a light bow before disappearing into the crowd.

The remaining man and woman eyed the pair of girls, exchanged some words and then stood. The man waved a hand in greeting and gestured towards the table. He wore a coat of scalemail, and a steel helmet sat on the table in front of him. A warrior ready for trouble. He seemed a bit nervous too.

The woman was dressed in a practical looking mix of green cloth and boiled leathers. She had long, chessnut-brown hair, a long narrow nose and piercing brown eyes. Both the man and woman had olive-brown skin; the man's a bit duskier than his partner, as well as slightly pointed ears and oddly tilted eyes that marked them as elf-blooded.

Before they could reach the table the woman stepped forward and addressed Ashura. "Hm. You match the description. Ashura right? A girl with Damaran features, alabaster-white skin, raven-black hair, ice-blue eyes. You even have a bit of Gorion's bearing, though it insults him to say so."

Ashura raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"My w-wife means no of-offence," the half-elven man stuttered.

"I don't?" the woman asked coldly.

The man sighed. "We…we w-were simply told much of you by Gorion. Where is he b-by the way?"

Ashura eyed her feet. The couple caught on instantly. "Ah, I see," the woman said.

"On the road," Ashura said softly, "we were attacked and he…"

The half-elven woman reached out and gently gripped Ashura's shoulder. "Don't trouble yourself overmuch child. Gorion had many enemies. It was not unexpected that he would meet his end…that way."

"Well, it was all a surprise to me," Ashura muttered. She looked up. "What are your names?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "I am Jaheira. This is my husband Khalid."

Ashura smiled weakly. "Good to know."

"I don't 'spose Mr. G told you two about me?" Imoen piped in.

Jaheira pursed her lips, pondering for a moment. "Imoen I suppose? The other foundling, with red hair."

"Aw," Imoen pouted. "Ashura got to have raven-dark hair but that's all the description Gorion gave? Not 'hair like spun fire, ruby red lips, legs that won't quit, eyes like sapphires?'"

Jaheira frowned. "How old are you anyway?"

Imoen raised a finger. "That's a very good question actually. We've never been entirely sure. Mr. G brought us both in when we were toddlers, first Shura then me a few months later. We're both about the same age and we think it's something like eighteen or nineteen but hard to tell. And let me tell you, it was pretty crummy not having a birthday growing up. Until I got the idea that me and Shura could just celebrate our birthday whenever since any day could be it. Maybe three or four times a year."

"I see," Jaheira stated dryly, taking a seat and gesturing for them to do the same. "Trust me, Gorion will not go unavenged." She cocked her head as she watched Ashura cringe and shift on her stool. "Are you well child?"

"Hardly," Ashura scowled. Realizing that Jaheira was referring to her shifting she added "Oh, the injury? I got hit by some bits of stone when a lightning bolt hit a wall. It's not bad."

"A lightning bolt?"

Ashura sighed and nodded. "Guess you couldn't hear over the din in here. Just outside the inn we were attacked by a mage. I don't know why. But one of the guards said he was a known assassin. I got a little singed by one of his lightning bolts. Didn't give him a chance to throw a second."

Jaheira nodded. "Sylvanis grants me some healing abilities, if you want me to treat your injuries later."

"That would be nice. It's not too bad though. Not as bad as the wolf bite. We've um…had quite a time getting here."

"I see," Jaheira said with a fretful look on her face. She shook her head slightly. "An assassin."

"Uh huh," Imoen said as she pulled something out of her pocket and set it on the table: a rolled up piece of parchment. She unfurled it.

Ashura's heart leapt in her chest as she studied the paper. It was a bounty notice with her name on it. There was a brief description of her, a note that she had last been seen leaving Candlekeep and a promise of two hundred gold coins for her head. There was no sign or even sigil indicating who was offering the bounty. No doubt a connected assassin would know what channels to go through.

"I swiped this off Tarnesh's body," Imoen explained.

"When?" Ashura asked incredulously.

"When no one was looking of course!"

"What else did you swipe?"

"A spellbook, a couple of magic scrolls and this," Imeon said proudly as she set a pouch onto the table that clinked with the sound of coins.

"I'm impressed," Ashura admitted.

"I'll have to watch my coin purse around you child," Jaheira noted.

"Pfft!" Imeon scoffed. "Don't worry aunty Jaheira, I don't steal from family."

"Of course." Jaheira turned back to the bounty notice. "Regardless, this is disturbing. Do you have any idea why someone would want you dead?"

Ashura shook her head.

"I don't know what Gorion's plan was," Jaheira said, "but I think it would be best if you traveled with Khalid and I until this is sorted out."

Ashura shrugged.

"We're on a mission, you see," Jaheira continued. "I had hoped for Gorion's assistance in fact. We were to head south to the town of Nashkel after our meeting, where we've been sent to investigate the iron crisis."

There was a sonorous chuckle behind them. "What a remarkable coincidence," Xzar exclaimed in his sing-song voice. "So were we." The face paint was gone and Xzar's hair looked wet and clean.

Jaheira glared and Khalid's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. "Who's this?" Jaheira hissed.

"It's okay," Ashura said. "This man helped us on the road. He's nice. Gave us some healing potions."

"And a job," Imeon said with a giggle.

Xzar nodded. "These noble lasses agreed to guard my body and that of my partner along the road. You'd be surprised, they're capable fighters." Xzar pointed at Ashura. "Especially this one." She found herself beaming with pride.

"And you're investigating the iron crisis?" Jaheira asked incredulously.

Xzar nodded. "On behalf of my master, Lord Feramont of Waterdeep." He tapped the silver dragon badge on his coat, as if the sigil explained everything. "We are to meet with Mayor Berrun Ghastkill himself and, gods willing, rectify this iron problem. I'd be happy if we traveled together. The roads are harsh these days, and safer shared."

Ashura didn't think it was possible but Jaheira's frown somehow grew deeper. "Perhaps." After a pause she added "Khalid and I have rented a large room upstairs. There's plenty of room for these two young ladies, and they will be staying with us."

The grin on Xzar's face never wavered. "Of course, of course," he said. "Believe it or don't, I'm quite happy to see these young beauties well chaperoned."

"Uh huh." Jaheira was not convinced.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Old school D&D is sure full of weird little creatures that act exactly like goblins but look slightly different, so I figured people would call them "Goblin-looking things" instead of xvarts, tasoli, dakani and whatnot.

Also instead of making Xzar an over-the-top cartoony kind of insane I'm aiming more for him being sly, sinister and just a bit off. I also decided to make the markings on his face painted instead of tattoos like they're usually portrayed as. The Baldur's Gate portraits never make it clear if the characters are wearing warpaint or facial tattoos, so I figured I wouldn't have them all (Xzar, Minsc, Shar-Teel, Coran, Faldorn, and maybe some characters I'm forgetting,) tattooed. And it kind of fits Xzar's personality that he'd draw weird patterns on his face depending on his mood.

Oh, and some people might notice that elements of this story were inspired by the Baldur's Gate NPC project, though I'll probably take a lot of liberties of my own with various characters.


	3. Chapter 3 - Unfriendly Arms

**3 – Unfriendly Arms**

_"But as long as the beasts were ugly,_

_We could stab 'em _

_And take their money," _–Unknown Bard, "Bandits or Adventurers?"

* * *

Somewhere in the darkness a skull leered. Fire danced in its eyes and a halo of glowing droplets swirled about its face. Somehow Ashura knew that the droplets were tears. Tears of blood.

She shot up and awake with a gasp. Imoen stirred beside her in the darkness and sleepily murmured, "Bad dream?" Imoen was lying the way she always did: splayed out on her belly and taking up as much space as she could.

"Yeah," Ashura whispered, sliding back down. "Don't usually dream."

"Don't usually go through the kind of stuff you did the past few days neither," Imoen mumbled. Ashura felt the pat of her friend's hand over the covers. "It'll be okay."

In moments Imoen's breathing became light and even, but Ashura just couldn't get back to sleep. Instead she lay in the darkness and stared up at the rafters. Sometime later tears found their way to the corners of her eyes and before she knew it she was quietly sobbing. When the tears had run their course she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, rolled onto her side and tried to find a few fitful hours of rest.

When the light of dawn began to peak through the window she gave up on sleep and kicked the bed sheets aside. She sat and stretched for a moment, then dug her toes into the woolen rug that covered most of the floor and stood, nude and stretching in the growing light.

Khalid groaned quietly from the other bed. "Didn't the monks teach you m-modesty?" he complained.

Ashura snorted.

"Tried once or twice," Imoen said sleepily as she stirred and took advantage of the extra blankets. "But when you grow up stuffed in with the seven other girls in the keep you give up on stuff like having privacy. 'Specially when the boy's dorm is right there across the way and Marni or Sam or Phlydia are always flinging doors open."

"Don't be squeamish Khalid," Jaheira muttered, rolling out from under the covers. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

Like the stories said half-elves were relatively free of body hair; Jaheira had just a little and Khalid's chest was completely bare. Ashura was a bit jealous of the lack of grooming the woman probably needed to go through.

The three women went about their morning business, taking turns with the chamber pot, the washing basin and the tall central mirror where they combed their hair. With a little prompting from his wife Khalid joined them and as she dressed Ashura stole a few sidelong glances at the half-elven man. He was slender but all muscle, lean and firm, virtually hairless and modestly endowed. _Not bad_. She caught a scowl from Jaheira and tried to look innocent.

As they went about primping and dressing the four chatted a bit about the coming journey to the south. Apparently the Friendly Arm was packed right now with gossiping travelers afraid to move freely along the coast because of relentless bandit attacks. Whole well-armed caravans were disappearing regularly, especially on the route between Beregost and Baldur's Gate.

"There's something off about that honey-tongued companion of yours," Jaheira said as she tightened the straps of her leathers, "but I must admit traveling with a full war-party may be best. You said the fop has a partner? What's he like."

"A mean looking halfling warrior," Ashura stated.

"Aw," Imoen exclaimed. "Monty's not so bad."

Ashura gave her a doubtful look.

* * *

Not many people occupied the common room when they entered but the smell of fresh bacon was thick in the air. There was a rich morningfeast available: soft bread, a thick potato and vegetable stew and bacon. They washed it all down with honeyed tea. Midway through the meal Xzar and Montaron arrived and invited themselves to the table. The black paint was back on Xzar's face, this time in seemingly random waves and whorls.

Montaron nimbly hopped onto the oversized stool and slouched forward. He sized up the two half-elves with a quick glance before he began to greedily munch on a piece of bread. "So these are the two that also be headed to Nashkel?" he asked between bites. Before anyone had time to answer he added, "I've no objection to traveling together if you don't."

Jaheira gave the halfling a narrow, pondering look. "We'll share the road south then," she said. "But I will be keeping an eye on you."

"Suit yourself," Montaron said without looking up from his meal, "but I won't be keepin' a single eye on you. You'll see. Me and Xzar be perfect gentlemen."

Within the hour the six of them were walking down the steps of the keep together. They passed under the gate of the Friendly Arm and headed south, keeping to the worn stones and gravel of the Coastway road as it curved gently around mossy boulders and through sparse trees. Morning mist clung to the lands around them, obscuring the towering trees of the Cloakwood to the west.

* * *

A day of walking and a night of camping under the stars went by quietly. The only company they met along the road was an old ranger who told them that their trudging was too loud and would attract gibberlings (whatever those were,) but no gibberlings appeared and the forests and fields they passed were peaceful and empty.

It was mid afternoon on the second day when Khalid spotted something large on the road ahead and the group slowed their march. The low hum of buzzing insects emanated from the object.

As they crept closer it became clear that the object was an overturned cart, two wheels in the air and bits of wood strewn all about. The sound came from clouds of flies that hovered above the cart. Lots of them.

Jaheira instantly had a leather sling out and in her hand with a round stone ready to be launched. She eyed some bushes between two stands of trees nearby, no doubt the best cover for an ambush. Imoen followed suit, knocking an arrow and watching the same spot as they silently drew closer to the cart.

The flies were buzzing over the corpses of two men that lay in the dirt nearby, face down and in the early stages of decomposition. Both bodies wore badly torn woolen shirts and trousers. Their shoes and whatever else they had of value had been looted and the cart looked skeletal. There was no sign of the animals that had pulled the cart. Some broken barrels and shattered crates were scattered about here and there and that was it.

They approached and carefully examined the stretch of bushes nearby, but found nothing and silently turned back to the road. Ashura noticed that Montaron was squatting by the broken cart and poking at it. A moment later he rose with a triumphant look on his face and a small bit of cloth in hand that he had pulled from beneath a board. When he unrolled the cloth a few gold coins fell into his palm. "They always miss something," he told Ashura with a toothy smile.

A few more nervous glances and they continued down the road. After they had put some distance between themselves and the cart Imoen asked, "Do you think it was goblins? We got attacked by some on the way to the Friendly Arm."

Jaheira shrugged. "It could have been any sort of bandit. I think those men were killed by arrows, but if so the attackers scavenged them afterwards."

"Yikes," Imeon said, suspiciously eying the nearby bushes and cradling her bow.

A tense, empty hour passed as they continued down the road and eventually came to an ancient stone bridge that crossed a trickling brook. The bridge was worn and moss-covered; the stream deep enough that a few clumps of reeds clung to the banks and swayed in the breeze.

As Ashura walked down the far side of the bridge at the head of the group she heard a faint twang and her heart lurched. Before she could react there was a sharp sting in her abdomen and her body bent as if she'd been punched. She found a howl of pain and rage leaving her lips and her swords slid from their sheathes. There was a tapping noise beside her as Khalid locked his sword against his shield and charged forward, towards a nearby stand of trees beyond the bridge.

Ashura rushed forward as well and quickly outpaced Khalid. The arrow that had struck her wobbled out and got trampled under her feet. If there was a wound it was shallow. Two more arrows hissed by and she bent forward, trying to make herself a small target. She could see the figures under the trees now: humans by the look of them, in mismatched brown or black leathers and hooded cloaks.

The nearest attacker was a man with a boyish face and bright-blonde hair. He was hastily knocking another arrow as Ashura closed the distance. She slashed at the bow, knocking it aside. She pivoted as she did, stabbing forwards with her other sword. The man scrambled and crawled backwards, evading the tip of the blade.

Her opponent managed to pull a sword from its sheath and parry as Ashura slashed at him again. He had abandoned his bow completely and used the other hand to launch himself onto his feet. Somewhere close behind Ashura heard steel ring against steel as Khalid joined the melee. With her right side facing the blonde man and thick brush clinging to her ankles Ashura pressed the attack, trying to strike his sword aside so she could follow through with a left-handed attack.

Movement to her left.

Ashura's offhand weapon parried and met another sword with a clang. A woman in black leathers with greasy brown tresses that framed her face like the snakes of a medusa was trying to overwhelm her. The woman slashed again and again from the left with her longsword, and for a horrifying moment Ashura was frantically parrying both attackers. She ducked under a high stroke from the woman as she barely managed to push aside a stab from the man, the edge of his sword grazing her armor.

Suddenly the blonde man's feet wobbled like pudding and he sank to his knees. Montaron appeared behind him, grinning over the man's shoulder as he tilted the blonde's head back and flicked his dagger across the man's neck.

Ashura whirled towards the woman in black leathers, both blades singing. She pushed in close, nullifying the reach of the woman's longer weapon, and in a few furious strokes she had the hilt of her left-hand blade locked with the hilt of the woman's sword as she drove her right-hand weapon cleanly through her enemy's neck. The woman let out a chocked gurgle and her sword fell to the earth. With a kick to the woman's belly Ashura dislodged her weapon and turned to find another target.

Khalid was fending off blows from a man in brown with his shield, his sword stuck in the body of a hooded woman he had skewered. Ashura closed the five paces between her and the man but he whirled to meet her, parrying her first few attacks. After a few close slashes she managed to lock his sword high with both blades and sweep his feet out from under him with a kick. As the man plunged face-first to the ground Ashura drove both her blades into his back with a downward stab. He struggled for a few breaths, pinned to the earth, and then the struggles turned into spasms.

She stomped on the center of the man's back and yanked the swords free, looking up in time to see that another attacker had backed away from the melee and knocked an arrow. The bowman began to aim but then shuddered and dropped his weapon as a stream of dark tendrils struck him. His face grew inhumanly gaunt, his arms shrinking to skeletal proportions. Ashura gasped, her eyes following the wisps of dark energy to their source at Xzar's fingertips. Necromancy! Xzar was draining the very life from the man as she watched.

The spell didn't kill the bowman outright, but with a few quick slashes Montaron's sword finished it. Shaking herself out of it Ashura turned and searched for another attacker. The woods were still and deathly quiet.

"H-help," a pained voice from the road cried. On the lip of the ditch sat Imoen, her hand clamped against an arrow that protruded from her chest, close to her right armpit. Ashura rushed to her side and knelt. Imoen had tears on her cheeks and in the corners of her eyes. Her breath was ragged.

Ashura frantically reached for the healing potion at her belt.

"Let me handle it," Jaheira said as she approached the pair. "Do not worry. It's not as severe at it looks." The half-elven woman held a smooth hickory club in one hand and her small wooden shield in the other. Blood and black gore dripped from the club as she dropped it and knelt beside Imoen. "Find one of their arrows," Jaheira ordered.

Though a little confused Ashura complied. She found a stray arrow nearby and handed it to Jaheira, who only glanced at the tip before tossing it away. "Good. They aren't barbed," she said. She turned to Ashura and continued. "Now, I need you to pull the arrow out." Then to Imoen: "Brace yourself child. This will be extremely painful but it will be over quickly."

Imoen nodded and Ashura carefully placed a hand on Imoen's shoulder, gripping the shaft of the arrow with the other. Jaheira readied an open palm. "Sorry Ims," Ashura whispered, taking a deep breath and then yanking the arrow with all her strength. It came out cleanly, along with a great splash of blood.

Imoen threw her head back and screamed as Jaheira quickly pressed her palm against the bleeding hole, speaking in a raspy language that Ashura did not recognize. A white-blue glow swelled around Jaheira's hand and against Imoen's bloodstained blouse.

Gradually Imoen's breaths came easier. "Thanks," she whispered to Jaheira, wiping the tears away with the heels of her hands. Jaheira turned away and went to searching the line of tress as the two young women sat there catching their breaths. It was a few moments before Ashura thought to check were the arrow had struck her at the beginning of the ambush. There was a rip in the leather where the armor covered her ribs and a slight scratch underneath but that was it. It looked like the arrowhead had been turned by a rivet when it struck and dug into the armor at an awkward angle. Very lucky.

All told there had been seven humans in the enemy party, all dressed in simple black or brown leather armor and armed with bows and longswords. They wore no symbol or badge, and seemed to be a simple gang of bandits. They carried little as well: coin pouches and cheep jewelry with a few scraps like fire-starting kits and lockpicks (Imoen snatched those up.) They had little else in the way of supplies, indicating that they probably had a camp nearby. Which direction the camp was and how well-hidden was anybody's guess.

"We need to get you some armor Ims," Ashura noted.

"Ya," Imoen replied with a sour look. "Part of a long list of things I wish I'd swiped before I left."

"Hm," Ashura mused. She kicked the corpse of the dark-haired female bandit she had killed. "I think she's about your size."

"Eww!" Imoen made a face. "Gross!"

Ashura used her foot to roll the corpse onto its back. "Your clothes are already covered in blood. And the leather's undamaged." She chuckled. "And if you won't wear it maybe it'll fetch a good price in Beregost."

"Hmph." Imoen pondered a moment. "Black isn't really my color."

"We can get you some purple armor later I suppose."

"Or I could dye it. Ohhh. Maybe paint it a bright shade of pink."

"Uh huh." Ashura rolled her eyes.

It was rather nice armor: high black boots, leather pants, long gloves and a top piece made of interlocking black leather strips connected by steel pins. And the armor turned out to fit Imoen comfortably.

They ended up stripping the undamaged bits from the rest of the corpses as well, each packing up a set of leather armor along with boots and gloves and attaching the swords to their packs. The jewelry and coin was divided up evenly.

"Me and Raven-Hair over there," Montaron said as he pointed to Ashura, "should get more of a share since we killed two a-piece." Jaheira just glared at him until he shrugged and gave a quick laugh. "It's how I'd do things, encourages competition. But you're the boss."

Leaving the strewn corpses of the bandits picked down to ragged underclothes or less they turned back to the south road.

* * *

The sun was gone and the orange glow was dimming to pale blue twilight when they spotted the smoke of Beregost's cookfires. One thankfully uneventful day had passed since the bandit attack and Imoen and Ashura were growing used to sleeping on the hard ground and the odd ritual of waking in shifts. By the time the group finally passed the outlying farms and reached the town of Beregost proper it was fully dark and the crickets were making quite a din. The sturdy cobbles of the Trade Way ended abruptly and branched out into several paths of packed dirt and gravel that wound around dozens of tall, sturdy-looking houses.

People were still milling about in the street, and one friendly man who was guiding a mule along the group's path stopped to greet them. He mentioned that they looked in need of directions, and when asked he recommended an inn called the Red Sheaf, calling it cheap, clean and quiet. When Ashura asked about a smithy the man's face lit up and he bragged about a place called Thunderhammer's, which he described as a large workhouse staffed with several skilled weaponsmiths and armorers.

Once the man and mule had moved along the party followed his directions and took the left-hand road into town. The houses of Beregost were all well-built, clean and brightly painted or whitewashed. Potted flowers or carefully groomed shrubs decorated the doorways and stoops that they passed.

It wasn't long before the smell of roasting meat was guiding them as much as the commoner's directions. A moment later they spotted a wooden sign depicting a bright red sheaf of wheat. They climbed a few rickety wooden steps and pushed open the door, Jaheira in the lead.

The common room of the Red Sheaf was dimly lit by a handful of overhead lamps. The soft murmur of the crowd reverberated off the roughhewn pine walls and floors. It wasn't a rowdy crowd; mostly middle aged men who looked to be farmers or craftsmen of some sort, with a few travelers here and there marked by their weatherworn cloaks. Most were human, though one traveler at the bar appeared to be a dwarf. Armor bulged under his thick cloak and a neatly forked brown beard was revealed as he turned and watched the group enter.

Jaheira and Xzar approached the fat inkeep and began to barter for rooms while Ashura found a barstool and stretched her limbs. "A tiring bit ofa hike eh?" Montaron asked as he hopped onto the stool beside her.

"Yeah," Ashura said as she accepted a clay cup of ale from a woman behind the bar. "Especially when you're watching for arrows the entire time."

"Well lass, this is the adventuring life," Montaron said as he waved the barkeep over. "Get used to it."

Ashura narrowed her eyes at the halfling. "Think I'm adapting just fine."

Montaron just gave her a glittering smile. "Oh, true true." He took a massive gulp of ale and wiped his mouth. "Fer a little babe fresh off the teat you show no hesitation when cutting comes. Ye trained well with those swords 'a yours."

"Thanks."

"You've a lot to learn about business that doesn't involve cutting though. And there are folks around who could show you quite a bit ta fill the gap."

"Like you?"

"Aye lass." Montaron's smile was almost friendly. "Fix your eyes and ears on me and you'll learn quite a bit."

"I'll keep that in mind. But besides cutting, what could you teach me?"

"Garroting. Hunting. Rigging up a tripwire. Dropping darfly or wyvern essence in some fool's cup. Proper vitals to aim for. No offense but like most big folk you swing those weapons around in a most imprecise manner."

Ashura found herself holding a hand over the lip of her drink at the mention of poisons. "I get it. You're a killer."

"Yer missing the point. You've a heart for the fight but ya just charge straight in. If the one avenue you know is ever cut off you'll be out'a luck. There's a hundred different paths to a good solid kill. You need to learn ta see and work all of 'em."

"I'll keep that in mind uncle Montaron."

The halfling laughed heartily and took a long drag of his ale. "You do. And thanks for not callin' me Monty."

Ashura wasn't sure if she should be pleased or shudder at the attention. The halfling was obviously a snake, but he seemed comfortable in his own scales. A stark contrast with Xzar, who was honest and forthright.

A strange feeling slithered through her at that thought. Something wasn't right but she just couldn't place it. She shook her head and lightly sipped her ale.

There was a whistle of steel through the air and a flash in the corner of Ashura's eye.

On instinct she pushed herself off the bar and bent back. Something rushed past her ear. Splinters flew as the head of a battleaxe split the surface of the bar near her fingers. She lurched back more, falling off the stool. When she hit the floor she crabwalked backwards as fast as she could.

Her attacker was the dwarf who had been watching them earlier. It took him a few breaths to yank the axe out of the wood and swing to face her. In that time Ashura had risen and drawn her swords.

The dwarf had a shield strapped to his off-arm and as Montaron rushed at him from the right the dwarf turned with surprising speed and drove its edge into the halfling's face. Montaron went flying backwards, blood spraying from his nose.

Ashura charged the dwarf with both swords swinging but he easily batted one weapon aside and blocked the second, which connected with the oak shield and promptly snapped. Loose shards of steel flew along with the end of the weapon. With a gasp Ashura hopped back, holding just the hilt of her lefthand sword and silently praying to Talos that the next time it would be the other guy's sword that broke.

The dwarf pressed the attack and Ashura's remaining sword locked with the underside of his axe again and again. She tried to press in close while the weapons were locked but hopped back with a gasp as the dwarf smacked her in the stomach with his shield. She tried to kick but came away with stinging toes when her foot connected with armor.

Another hop back as the dwarf slashed wide and Ashura felt a sting along her stomach. Another slash struck her in the hip, forcing her to back up again. Her armor took the worst of it but her right leg was growing numb. Soon there would be nowhere to retreat.

An armored blur flew past Ashura and the dwarf's axe bounced off the steel of a shield. Metal screeched against metal as Khalid's hand-and-a-half sword probed the dwarf's defenses. A twist and Khalid's shield slammed against the dwarf's as the half-elf managed to turn aside the axe and riposte, slashing down at the dwarf's wrist. The slash was absorbed by solid armor.

The dwarf was on the defensive now, backing a bit, bracing himself as he hefted his shield and blocked a blow to his head. Khalid bashed his opponent's shield with his own and in the same motion slipped his sword through; slashing at the dwarf's armored midsection. Torn scales clinked to the floor and the dwarf reeled.

Khalid braced his sword-arm back to deliver a stab but stopped when the dwarf lost his poise and threw his head back in a long, wheezing gasp. The axe and shield fell to the floor as the dwarf's arms went limp. A breath later he fell face first onto the floor.

Standing behind the dying dwarf was Montaron, his sword slick with blood from tip to hilt. He looked up at Khalid with a satisfied grin, upper lip bloody from the blow he had taken to the nose. "Once again I get the kill," Montaron teased.

"Wouldn't have s-stumbled onto y-you're blade if I h-hadn't pushed him there," Khalid growled out as defiantly as the perpetual stutter would allow.

"True enough," the halfling conceded with a silly little bow. "We share the credit for that one. Was a tough sonuvabitch."

"I-indeed."

As they had talked Jaheira and Imoen had rushed down the stairs into the common room. Both held weapons out and ready, but lowered them as Khalid waved his hand. They walked over to the body of the dwarven warrior. Jaheira poked him with her toe before squatting down to examine further. "Who was this man?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter," the fat innkeep answered with a snarl. "I won't abide no fighting under my roof, 'specially not with blades. You're not welcome here."

"We purchased rooms-" Jaheira began but the innkeep interrupted her by tossing a handful of coins in her face. She scowled as Khalid bent to pick the money up.

"Out! Now!" the innkeep bellowed, and in moments they were on the street, their baggage carelessly tossed out with them by some gruff looking maids.

In the darkness Xzar's teeth gleamed. "I didn't like that place anyway," he said. "Too rough and woody. Let's find somewhere with better carpeting."

After conferring a moment they headed down a southern street in the general direction of another inn that the peasant had mentioned. Soon they found themselves following the growing hum of distant pipe and drum music. Ashura slipped in beside Khalid as they walked and turned towards him. "You speak well with your sword," she noted.

He narrowed his eyes at her and said nothing.

Ashura shrugged. "Just a compliment."

The thump and whistle of the music emanated from the windows of a large building. A sign out front depicting the face of a laughing clown with white greasepaint and a hat full of bells, a placard beneath reading "The Jovial Juggler." Inside a small but raucous crowd danced and clapped to a wordless song in an open area of the common room, spinning on the worn hardwood floor. Apart from the revelers people sat in little clumps here and there around tables, sipping from tall mugs.

After carefully making their way to a table in a corner of the room the group ordered drinks and fixed their eyes on the handful of patrons wearing traveler's cloaks. Time passed by silently and none of the guests showed much interest in the party beyond a few curious looks and gossipy whispers.

Eventually Xzar and Khalid went to the bar to consult with the innkeep about rooms and sometime later Montaron disappeared.

Ashura turned her head as she felt Jaheira's hand rest upon her wrist. The Tetheryn woman's voice was low and measured. "Not too long ago," Jaheira began "Khalid was bold and forceful both with blade and voice."

"He still fights very-"" Ashura began but was silenced by a fingertip.

"Nearly a year ago we had a very unpleasant run-in with the Black Network. Khalid was captured and…tortured. It took several tendays for some associates and I to find his location and mount a rescue. He has…yet to fully recover." She peered off. "He may never."

"They uh…they hurt him that bad?" Imoen asked.

Jaheira shook her head. "It is difficult for the young and brash to understand, but the mind can be torn and frayed just as fully as the body. And in many cases it is more difficult to heal."

Imoen traced a fingertip around the lip of her cup. "I see," she said. "I'm sorry."

"He's strong," Jaheira said with a hint of pride. "Stronger than he thinks. You will see."

There was a long pause as the three slowly nursed their cups of ale and winter wine. Eventually Imoen broke the silence with the rustle of paper as she pulled a scroll from her many pockets. "Hate to add to your burdens," she said "but this was on the dwarf that attacked Shura. Urm…along with a pouch that added up to about fifty gold. How are we dividing treasure like that anyways?"

It was a bounty notice similar to the one they had found on Tarnesh. The price on Ashura's head was up to three hundred and fifty gold.

* * *

Captain Joia Ruthwhir was having a relatively good day. One of her men on the wall of the Friendly Arm had spotted a hobgoblin scout north of the keep. It was the second hobgoblin sighting this tenday and it was growing clear that she would need to put a sortie together soon to deal with the creatures.

On the plus side of the ledger there had been no thefts reported today and no barroom brawls in over a tenday. Tension had been thick at the inn earlier in the trade season as more and more travelers piled up, trapped by the bandit attacks along with the usual issues that came with the ankheg mating season. On the worst days it seemed the captain had some sort of fire to put out nearly every hour, but as the troublemakers were kicked out and the dangerous roads kept new arrivals away things had gotten easier.

Best of all the adventuring company that had stayed at the inn a few days ago and attracted the mage assassin had left without further incident, and there had been no dangerous looking guests since. Old Lulm had even patched up the hole the lightning bolt had put in the keep. If you looked closely you could see the new mortar but it was fine at a glance.

All told it was a good day. Until an earsplitting scream came from a storage shed near the bathhouse late in the afternoon.

The captain sighed before she began to sprint towards the shed, hand at the hilt of her sword. One of her guards reached the building at nearly the same time as she and together they burst through the doorway, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the darkness of the shed.

Lila, one of the maids, was cowering against the far wall. The captain and her underling glanced around a moment longer but all was still and silent. "Lila," the captain began. "What's going-"

The maid pointed at the other side of the storeroom. "C-captain Ruthwhir," she stammered, "it's a…a…"

The captain followed the terrified girl's finger to a tall clay jar that had been pulled aside from its place by a barrel of bath salts. From behind the barrel stretched an arm, palm open and slack. Captain Ruthwhir found herself gently twisting the flamedance ring on her left hand, a habit she was in when things got tense. _Please be a passed out drunk_, she thought to herself as she approached. _Please just be a passed out drunk._

No such luck.

Wedged behind the barrel of salts and several jars of bath oils was the body of a man with youthful but windburnt features. The man was dressed in simple grey and orange clothes and his empty, bulging eyes and protruding tongue left no doubt that he was dead.

As she carefully slid the body out from where it had obviously been stuffed Captain Ruthwhir muttered, "Huh. I think I know this guy."

"Yeah," the other guard concurred. "That's Jopi isn't it? The courier from Baldur's Gate."

The captain examined the body further. "Stiff and cold. He's been here a while." Seeing something she pulled his collar back a bit. There was a deep black mark across his throat, tinged here and there with red. "Garroted," she noted grimly. Something gleaming caught her eye and she peeled the shirt back a bit further. Attached to a wisp-thin chain a tiny amulet rested against the corpse's chest.

The captain lifted the thing at the end of the chain and held it in the light. It was a tiny piece of silver depicting a harp resting within a crescent moon. Captain Ruthwhir gave a low whistle. "Wow," she said. "Guess we know why someone wanted him dead." She thought a moment then turned to her subordinate. "We'll have to do a full investigation of course but I have a hunch whoever did this is a problem for those half-elves now."

* * *

**Author's Note: **One thing you sure seem to do a lot of in CRPGs is kill people in self-defense and then try on their clothes. It's kind of weird when you think about it.


	4. Chapter 4 - Hunters

**4 – Hunters**

_"A hunting cat will only strike from behind, so never show it your back. Show the enemy your back and you've crossed the line between a battle and a hunt."_ – Nina Whitesun, _Memoir of a Warbitch_

* * *

"The bloodstains?" the blacksmith inquired. He was a tall, broad man with a boyish face and a tangled mop of sandy-blonde hair.

Ashura made a face. "Well, we picked these leathers off some bandits on the north road," she began, her eyes on the pile of mostly intact leather armor she had dropped on the floor.

"Oh," Thunderhammer replied. "Good riddance then. Those bastards have been blocking our shipments for a good two tendays now. Seems like there's an army of bandits out there."

"A few less now at least," Ashura said with a slight smile.

"True. In case you didn't know there's a guard captain in town who's paying a bounty for bandit scalps. If you decide to kill any more that is."

"Good to know." She wondered how anyone could tell that a severed scalp came from a bandit, but decided not to ask.

Convincing the smithy's owner to buy the bandits' armor and weapons was easier than Ashura had thought. Haggling over the price turned out to be more of a pain. Thunderhammer insisted that since steel weapons in the region were crumbling left and right the swords were next to worthless. This went against everything Ashura had read about the law of supply and demand and when she told him that he brushed her off and said that in a real market no one cares about "the laws of hoozy-wut's-its." In the end he did reluctantly go up a bit on the price.

When all the coin was tallied they had more than enough to pay the smiths to mend Ashura's damaged leathers and purchase a chainmail shirt. With a little work one of the armorers found a way to comfortably fit the shirt over the studded leather tunic.

They offered to purchase sturdier armor for Imoen too but she shook her head and said she was fine with her black leathers. "It's comfy enough to move in," she said. "Don't want anything heavier."

Ashura eyed a display case full of fine enchanted weapons, but even the cheapest magical short-sword was well beyond what they could afford. She settled for selling her misshapen goblin weapon and purchasing two new swords. Thunderhammer gave a preemptive apology for the quality of the metal. "Just about everything 'tween the Cloudpeaks and Baldur's Gate now comes from that blasted mine in Nashkel," he said. "I wish I could get shipments from somewhere else, but those damned bandits…"

Very reassuring.

At least Ashura left Thunderhammer's with fresh coin in her pouch and arms at her hip. She had also enjoyed a long hot bath the night before and slept soundly.

The war-party met up outside the Jovial Juggler half a bell later and set out along the southern road. The packed dirt and gravel that comprised the town's streets was soon replaced by raised cobblestones. Once again they were walking one of the ancient highways built by the Shoon Imperium during one wave of conquest or another and maintained by countless kingdoms and baronies since.

For a time the road ran straight, passing through flowering meadows and light stands of trees and brush. The party began to relax as they marched under the warm Mirtul sun. Birdsong rang from every tree, occasionally broken by the scream of an eagle high overhead. Meadows became rolling hills, the trees grew taller, and the road began to wind.

* * *

A little over an hour into their journey the group turned a bend in the path and came to a sudden halt. A large portion of the cobblestones ahead were smeared with blood. Black and red and freshly pooled. Whatever had died lay between two bulky figures that knelt in the middle of the road. Besides a little cloth tied at their loins the figures were naked, inhumanly muscular, and as they rose and turned it became clear that they were male. Blood covered their arms to the elbow and caked their wide bestial faces; noses flat and piggish, the hint of tusks at their lips.

One of the creatures held something up in his hand: a pale, severed arm from something human or humanoid. He seemed to leer at Ashura and Khalid as he held the arm above his mouth and let the blood flow to his lips.

Standing straight both creatures were nearly seven feet tall. Lesser ogres, Ashura realized, remembering a picture she had seen in an old bestiary. Sometimes called ogrillons. While the leering creature gulped down the blood the other let out an ear-splitting howl and charged, bare feet stomping on the stones. He was unarmed but fearless, his broad arms taking the lead, open hands shooting towards Ashura, ready to grip and pull and crush.

As her swords left their sheaths Ashura dashed forward to meet the creature. She ducked at the last moment and slid under the grasping hands, drawing her sword across the ogrillon's belly. His guts came spilling out as she passed, and in a sudden panic the beast tried to catch the slick ropes of intestine and push them back in.

Khalid finished the creature off with a quick slash to the neck as Ashura reached the second ogrillon. She slashed out but he managed to bat her swords away with the severed arm. He pivoted as he wielded the arm like a club and punched with his free hand. Ashura had been trying to bring her second sword up and stab at the ogrillon's armpit but the punch to her jaw threw her off. Her sword just grazed the beast as she fell backwards and hit the cobblestones.

Luckily Khalid was there before the ogre could deliver another blow and the tip of his sword struck true, going under the creature's ribcage and right to its heart. The beast howled in agony for a moment before slumping against Khalid, who nearly fell over from the weight.

Ashura launched herself back up and glanced around but there seemed to have been nothing beyond the pair of lesser ogres. It was over.

As she rubbed her aching jaw Ashura watched the others examine the area. Judging from the proportions of what was left of him the ogrillon's victim seemed to be a halfling man. A sack that lay on the stones beside his lower half was full of rolled up letters sealed by wax and marked "Beregost." Apparently the poor fellow was a courier. Having no desire to trek several miles back up the road to deliver mail they left the bag where they found it and continued south.

Khalid kept pace with Ashura at the head of their little formation, and after a time Ashura broke the silence. "How come your sword never breaks?" she asked.

"It's m-magical," he explained. "A m-minor enchantment but it helps."

"Hope I can find myself a magic weapon one of these days," Ashura said. They fell into silence for a quarter mile or so.

"You s-sure charge in head first," Khalid noted, making conversation.

"'In battle always be in motion and let your momentum carry you through to the end,'" Ashura recited. "'To stop is to become a target. To hesitate is to die.'"

Khalid gave her a blank look.

"That's from the Manual on the Art of Combat by Davo Abraxus. It's an old Chondathan book. Has some good fencing techniques mixed in with the philosophy."

"D-did you truly learn to fight f-from books?" Khalid asked.

Ashura shook her head slightly. "I sparred with the guards in Candlekeep every chance I got. Combat manuals are great but you can't get the reflexes and calluses you need for real combat without practicing with someone. That's something they stress in a lot of the manuals, in fact."

Khalid chuckled. "Fair enough, b-but you might want to start wearing a h-helmet," he said, tapping his own. "For the n-next time you charge into an ogre's fist."

"That might be a good idea," Ashura admitted.

* * *

As the day progressed the path grew more and more winding and the companions found themselves walking around wide hills and boulders. When the morning air cleared the Cloudpeak Mountains came into sight, still far to the south. Nashkel was somewhere at the mountains' feet, in a fertile vale above the foothills. It would be two or three days journey to get up there by Jaheira's estimation.

They took each bend in the path with caution, hands resting on their weapons as their eyes constantly scanned the trees and hills. Their caution was rewarded when they stepped around a moss-topped boulder and found themselves a few paces from a pair of lightly armored creatures with bat-like features and orange skin.

Hobgoblins.

The man-sized goblins shot to their feet, scattering bone fragments from some game they had been playing. One of the hobgoblins brought his hand to his lips and gave a loud whistle while the other hefted a sword and shield.

Side by side Ashura and Khalid drew their weapons and charged. With a metallic clang Khalid bashed his shield against the lead hobgoblin's. The blow sent the creature stumbling back a step and Ashura sped up, dancing around the reeling goblin as she tried to flank him.

The hobgoblin slashed at her while he blocked a blow from Khalid with his shield but Ashura managed to avoid the clumsy attack and close the distance. Her sword easily stabbed through the creature's crude leather armor and sank deep into his back.

Raising her offhand weapon in time Ashura managed to block a sword-blow from the second goblin and slide her weapon along his in a riposte that sent him hopping back. She yanked her main sword free and whirled to engage the second hobgoblin fully but before she could attack again one of Imoen's arrows whistled by and sank into her opponent's neck. The goblin grasped at the offending arrow, letting out a frantic croak before Ashura finished him off with a stab to the chest.

Ahead at the tree line branches were cracking and leaves were crunching. A breath later more hobgoblins broke through the trees, swords at the ready and backed by bowmen. There were at least eight of them, a full war-party. The first two had merely been a picket.

The bat-faced creatures formed up three by two, shoulder to shoulder in an abbreviated military formation. Their shields locked as the two bowmen knocked arrows. Each wore metal spikes that resembled horns on their helmets and uniform boiled-leather armor.

Over the grunts of the beast-men and the stomping of their boots came Xzar's melodic voice. He sang in a strange tongue, his voice carrying high and far. There was a crackle on the cobblestones in the center of the hobgoblin unit as wispy tendrils of golden energy slithered up and out, wrapping around the legs of each creature before abruptly vanishing.

A collective shiver seemed to run through everything before Ashura's eyes. The military discipline of the hobgoblin unit wavered as the beast-men glanced around nervously, then shattered as they began to panic. Some screamed and chopped at the air. Others shook uncontrollably and dropped to their knees, hiding their faces and cowering. A few simply tossed their weapons to the earth, turned around and ran.

Montaron zipped past Ashura's legs. "Come on you fools," he shouted without turning. "We've gotta' take advantage before the spell wears off."

Ashura nodded and rushed in beside Montaron. The halfling found a kneeling hobgoblin and grabbed him by a horn, yanking his head back and stabbing him through the throat. As the goblin coughed its last Ashura caught up with a fleeing creature and snatched him by the shoulder as she ran him through from behind, then turned and used her second sword to gut a cowering hobgoblin nearby.

By then Jaheira had joined them. She snatched the helmet off one of the cowering creature's heads and as he stuttered out a terrified plea for mercy she brought her club down, braining him in a few strokes. She waded over to another kneeling hobgoblin, bent down and in a lightning-quick motion gripped his chin and helmet and twisted hard. With a sickening crack the creature's neck broke.

There was a hobgoblin crawling blindly away from the slaughter, roughly between Imoen and Ashura. Imoen had an arrow knocked and trained on him, but she hesitated. Ashura looked at her friend questioningly and Imoen gave her an uncertain, pained look. Ashura shrugged and began stalking towards the hobgoblin but before she reached it the arrow flew. The creature's head snapped back as the arrow sank into his right eye. Two heartbeats later the hobgoblin's head pitched forward and he shuddered for a moment before growing still.

No more hobgoblins were moving.

Khalid stood away from the slaughter, a distasteful look on his face. Xzar stood behind, arms crossed and wearing a satisfied grin.

By their estimate at least two of the hobgoblins had fled into the woods. Not knowing if there were more of the creatures out there the party quickly decided to file up and continue marching down the road, weapons at the ready and still dripping with blood.

Ashura gave the slaughter one backward glance as they marched. It was said that even the most novice priests could cast a long lasting spell that would protect from magical fear. Right now she wished for some of that sort of protection regularly. What a horrible way to go: cowering and helpless and trapped by an emotion forced on you by someone else. At least she knew Xzar would never throw such a spell at her.

An hour passed with no sign of ambush, goblin or otherwise. Then another. By then the weapons were clean and back in their sheaths, but the group kept alert. The day passed from there without incident, and as the sun began to disappear behind the hills they started searching for a suitable campsite.

They settled on a large boulder a little off from the road. It was smooth and round with a high enough lip to provide a bit of shelter from rain and wind. There was a stream through the trees nearby where they refilled their waterskins and washed their faces before searching for dry rocks and wood for a firepit. Montaron had disappeared when they began to build the campsite, but as the first embers began to glow and the shadows lengthened he reappeared carrying the bodies of two squirrels. He showed Ashura how to skin and clean them and soon they had the rodents skewered and roasting over the flames.

The meat was a bit tough but it made for a better eveningfeast than the dried nuts and grains they carried. "Hobgoblins and ogres all in one day," Imoen murmured as she stared into the flames.

"Wild places are always full of wild things," Jaheira said. "It is the way of the world."

"Bah," Montaron muttered. "Least it was the little kind of ogre. Big ones'r far nastier. You'd think with all the bulk they'd be slow 'n lumbering but they can move _fast_ when they wanna."

"That's a pleasant thought," Imoen said.

"Just bein' an optimist," Montaron said with a shrug. "As long as the ogres stay pint-sized and the goblins don't get bigger than a hob everything's peachy. Could be a lot worse. The goblins could have been bugbears. Big, nasty cousins of the hob."

"Please don't give the gods any ideas," Imoen protested.

"Or it could have been trolls. Or fire-newts. Or-"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Imoen covered her ears, giggling a little.

Once they finished their meals Ashura was given first watch, instructed by Jaheira to wake her when the moon reached the edge of The Horn constellation. Ashura nodded, putting away the stone she had been using to sharpen her blades and finding a suitable place to stand guard as the rest settled in for the night.

* * *

The next day on the road was uneventful, if a bit tense. The path continually wound up and up into the foothills, and they turned each bend ready for battle, only to be met with the sound of birdsong and rustling trees. Always the Cloudpeaks loomed over them. White and gray wisps clung to their slopes, thick in the morning and dissipating as the day progressed, no doubt where the mountains' namesake came from.

When the path grew straighter for a time Ashura let Khalid take the lead and drifted back a few paces, marching beside Jaheira. "You never told me how you and Khalid met Gorion," Ashura said.

"No I did not," Jaheira stated plainly.

Ashura let out a groan and was surprised to hear a hearty chuckle from Jaheira. A moment later the half-elven woman began to tell the story of a time when she and Khalid had been "brazen youths" on a mission to shut down a ring of slavers based out of Iriaebor. The pair had discovered that a corrupt noble named Ployer was using his lands and roads to smuggle slave caravans bound for Westgate, where the humanoid cargo could be shipped anywhere across the Sea of Fallen Stars.

"Exposing Baron Ployer to the authorities was easy enough," Jaheira said "but we soon found out that the person behind the slavers in the region was a powerful Thayvian mage. She abducted and interrogated several locals who had helped us uncover the slaver ring. We tracked them and found her base of operations but rescuing them was too much for Khalid and I.

"So we sent a message asking for reinforcements and thankfully Gorion was in the area. He had grey hair even back then, and he was an experienced mage. So he took the lead on our little assault on the Red Wizard's layer." She chuckled. "We stood by, helpless, as he engaged the Red Mage herself in a wizard's duel. Quite a sight to behold."

"How does that work exactly?" Ashura asked.

"It can go many ways depending on the spells the mages favor. But usually both mages throw up an onion of magical defenses and illusions, then work to peel away the enemy's defenses first. It's all rather colorful. Mages tend to be frail under all that magic though. Once Gorion had dispelled the Red Mage's protections he killed her with a single spell."

"Hm," Ashura mused. "Hard to think someone like that could be cut down by one guy in spiky armor."

"Yes." Jaheira frowned. "Perhaps the man who killed Gorion was some sort of trained wizard-slayer, capable of shrugging off spells and cutting through magical protections with his sword. I have heard of such things."

"Huh," Ashura said, pondering. "I didn't have the best vantage, but father's magic didn't seem to have much of an effect on the guy." She was silent for a moment. "Well, I doubt he'll be able to shrug off a sword through the eye."

Jaheira shook her head slightly. "I understand wanting revenge, for I want it as well, but please be cautious child. This is obviously a dangerous man. Charging him the way you charge hobgoblins will just get you skewered on his sword."

"Pfft. I'm getting the 'reckless youth' speech?"

"Yes. I should know, I was a reckless youth once, and thankfully Gorion took me under his wing after our battle with the slavers. I suspect he was thinking of retiring at the time, and felt obliged to pass down some of the wisdom he had acquired to the young. Over the next couple of years we went on several missions together. The last one…" She paused, her frown deepening.

Ashura gave her an inquisitive look.

After a time the druidess responded with a shrug. "The last mission was an assault on a temple of Bhaal. Grim business that. They were sacrificing children."

It felt like there was more to the story but Jaheira was silent. After a time Ashura asked: "Bhaal? So this was before the Time of Troubles?"

"Shortly before, yes," Jaheira replied. She was not forthcoming with anything more. Ashura thought about asking who had sent them on all of these "missions" but was certain that was as off-limits as the story of what happened in the temple. Maybe Jaheira would open up with time. For now they just walked on in silence.

* * *

After long days of climbing the steep road the group was happy when they crested a hill and came upon the vale. Open fields and meadows lay before them now, forest clinging to the hills at the edge. Here and there among the fields they saw simple hovels and outbuildings.

The town of Nashkel had a very different character than Beregost. Instead of a tight cluster of tall, sturdy buildings the town seemed to be haphazardly strewn across the open fields. Farms, cottages and little homesteads dotted the landscape along dirt paths that spanned out from the Tradeway. The one place where buildings stood in any sort of order was a stretch of the highway that began at a well kept stone bridge crossing a small river. A tall stone temple stood over the rest of the village, with a steeped roof, four minarets and a massive symbol depicting the gauntlet-and-eye of Helm above the double doors.

The street was crowded with laborers pushing handcarts and loading wagons, as well as a number of soldiers that stood at post in front of each building or marched in small formations along the street or the dusty side roads. They were armored in scalemail and wore the distinct, high domed helmets of Amnish troops that glinted in the setting sun.

As the party approached the bridge one of the patrols broke off and marched towards them. Jaheira tilted her head towards Ashura and Imoen. "As you can see this town is heavily garrisoned," she stated. "It may not appear so but this is a place of great strategic importance. It is the gateway through the Cloudpeaks between Amn and the north."

A dour Amnish soldier with an elaborate beard and a scar on his cheek stepped forward out of the ranks of the patrol. "Identify yourselves," he barked.

Xzar and Jaheira stepped forward simultaneously. They glanced at each other before Xzar deferred to the half-elf with a little bow. "We are here to investigate the troubles in your mine," Jaheira said. "Mayor Ghastkill is expecting us."

"Hm," the soldier huffed and shook his head. "Expecting these little girls, you spindly elflings, that fop or that half-man to do what contingents of Amnish soldiers can't? Nothing stupider than a call for 'adventurers' if you ask me. But the Mayor did put out the call so I 'spose you can take it up with him."

Jaheira gave a curt bow. "I thank you then."

"If you ask me the problem with the iron is a curse from the gods," the soldier continued. "Just got to figure out the right god and appease 'em."

"We didn't ask you," Montaron snarled.

The soldier shrugged slightly. "Just trying to help. You're not the first adventurer types to come investigating. Near a tenday back there were two elves. Real serious types, said they came from Everska to solve the iron problem. One of 'em even had a moonblade. They went down into the mine and we haven't heard from them since."

"Just tell us where Barrun is," Jaheira demanded.

The soldier pointed down the road with his thumb. "This time o'day he's likely in the temple. Probably praying to the wrong god, like I said."

"Thank you then." At that Jaheira began to march down the street and the group fell in behind her.

The mayor was leaving the temple as they approached; flanked by several well dressed men. He was a lean, strong looking youth with the deep tan of an outdoorsman. He waved at the group as soon as he saw them and swiftly approached.

"Ah, the adventuring type," he said by way of greeting. "Would recognize them anywhere. You must be Khalid and Jaheira," he inclined his head. "And Xzar right? Glad you've decided to team up. Whatever is down there in the mines…well."

"We were told of the elves that went searching before us," Jaheira stated. "And we have not 'teamed up' as you say. We were simply traveling together."

"That's about the same thing," Montaron said with a shrug.

"Do as you wish," Barrun said, "The mine is a few miles to the southeast. I can send a soldier to guide you."

Imoen spoke up: "One of your soldiers seemed to think the problem with the iron was a curse from the gods and there's nothing we can do."

Barrun chuckled. "There's a lot of talk like that. Trust me, whatever's plaguing the mine is more substantial than a curse. We've lost a lot of miners recently, and even a few guards. Dead or disappeared."

"How were these men killed?" Jaheira asked.

"The bodies we found had arrows or arrow wounds. Most likely culprit would be a tribe of goblins, but whatever they are they've been damn illusive."

"Then before we launch a goblin hunt it would be most wise to rest up," Xzar interjected. "Maybe purchase some goblin hunting equipment." He frowned. "No idea what that is."

The mayor nodded. "I understand. This is an urgent matter though. Hope you can get on it as soon as possible."

"Tomorrow," Jaheira stated firmly.

"Good. Well, the inn is back up the road by the river. With the roads backed up it's pretty full, but there's no shortage of farmers renting out barns and haylofts. The general store's next to the inn. The big building."

They backtracked and after a visit to the shops they found the inn easily enough. In addition to being the only inn in town the place was a single story tall and a bit drab. The floor and ceiling were rough-cut and worn, the walls bare and painted a simple white. No Jovial Jugglar, certainly. Farmers and off duty soldiers leaned against a long bar and the tables were mostly full.

Thankfully there were two rooms left, small and sparse with a single bed each. After placing their packs in the rooms and locking the doors the group made their way back to the taproom and settled in at a large round table. Most of the group let out a collective sigh as they finally rested their feet. It had been a long journey, hobgoblins and ogres and deep woods and all.

After a meal and a few rounds of bitter black ale even Jaheira was relaxing a little, though she went back to her usual glares when Imoen tried to get her to join in on a bawdy drinking song. To Ashura's surprise Khalid did know the words, his stutter gone as he closed his eyes and sang. Xzar joined in on the next song, but he seemed to be making up his own lyrics. Something about dragons and rabbits. Imoen pitched her voice louder, trying to drown him out.

By then farmers at nearby tables had started singing as well, swaying to the rhythm and tapping on the tabletops. Then somewhere around the third chorus the song began to die away and a hush fell over the room. Ashura followed the eyes of the rest of the crowd to the back of the inn.

An armored woman had sauntered into the common room. A crested steel helmet sat on her head, a few strands of honey-blonde hair spilling out, and her splintmail armor clinked lightly in the silence. A brown grasping bear's claw was painted across the interlocking plates at her chest. It was the symbol of the Beastlord, marking her as a huntress of Malar. A green cloak hung from her shoulders and her feet were clad in fine fur boots.

The eyes of the huntress focused directly on Ashura as she strolled into the room. The woman gave the group a haughty smile. "Aw, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your song," she cooed.

"What are-" Jaheira began but was cut short as the huntress whipped her left hand out from under her cloak and barked out something in a strange, guttural language. Translucent green vines burst from the floor and the very air; ghostly looking but solid enough to wrap around the waists and wrists and ankles of everyone at the table save Ashura. Chair legs screeched against the floor as they twisted and struggled with the ethereal force.

Ashura shot to her feet and drew her swords. She vaulted onto the table, raising her weapons to strike down at the huntress. As she did the other woman waved her right hand and with a crackle a hammer made of blue energy appeared in her fist. Before Ashura could strike the huntress turned and swung the hammer into her gut, bending her forward. As Ashura bent she felt the hammer slide away and then fly up, striking her in the face and sending her flying. A wave of pain went through her body as she hit the rough wooden floor.

Jaheira was shouting. "You think these vines can hold a servant of Sylvanis?" she bellowed. Fighting a sharp ache in her stomach Ashur managed to sit up then try to wobble to her feet. As she did she saw the ethereal vines that gripped Jaheira snap and vanish.

As the druidess stood and drew her war club the huntress waved her free hand and shouted something that was less a word and more a bestial grunt. A corona of golden energy flashed around Jaheira and she stood still, muscles obviously straining against the magic. "I've more than one way to hold you, bitch," the huntress snarled.

Ashura shifted to a dueling stance, feet dancing. She cringed as her body protested and her nose stung. Blood was dripping down onto her upper lip.

The huntress shook her head. "No, no, no," she said. "You are my prey tonight. And I will have my hunt. No fighting. You must _flee_."

The last word hit Ashura like something solid and she found her body acting all on its own. She pivoted and faced the door, and then her legs were moving, sprinting across the room. The door swung open and she found herself fleeing across the road and into the night.

She was a prisoner in her own body, the struggles of her mind unfelt by her pumping legs and arms as she ran. Mud sucked at Ashura's boots as she reached the bank of the river and then stomped forward into the water. Now she was wading, each step nightmare-slow. The water came up to her waist then grew lower as she climbed the opposite bank. No way to know where the huntress was; her head simply would not obey the order to turn and look.

Up the bank Ashura went, panting and climbing into a meadow of tall grass. Somewhere behind she could hear the clink of the huntress' armor. She ran through the grass, the field lit clearly by the full moon. Clink. Clink. The sound of the armor. Getting closer.

Now she could hear the crackle of that blasted magic hammer cutting through the air. Somewhere behind. Somewhere close. The blow would come any moment now. Solid and final, to the back of her head.

_No!_

Rage welled up, a primal scream struggling with the paralysis of her muscles. Spasms wracked her limbs. Her body shook, then she whirled, swords slicing through air as she fell into a crouch.

Relief! She could move.

The huntress was right there, hammer high in the air and ready to smash something. Ashura managed to cross her swords and catch the weapon's handle on them as the huntress swung down. She couldn't stop the hammer but she redirected it to the right and sent it smashing into the dirt instead of her skull. At the same time Ashura lashed out with her left-hand sword.

The blade dented a few plates at the woman's torso but did little else. Both combatants hopped back a few steps, regrouping. The huntress's teeth gleamed in the ghostly light cast by her hammer. "You do the job of the prey poorly," she noted through her grin. As she spoke her free hand glowed, a ball of golden energy forming at her palm. "If you will not be run down then you will be _trapped_." Her hand shot forward.

Ashura's response was an inhuman howl of rage as she charged. She felt the golden tendrils of the spell shoot from the woman's hand. They searched her mind and body for purchase. She gave them none. There was only fury. There was only forward.

The eyes of the huntress went wide with shock. She raised her hammer to block but Ashura's slash pushed the weapon aside. Ashura's right-hand sword stabbed at her opponent's armpit and sunk deep into flesh were no armor protected. She dropped her left sword and gripped her opponent's wrist, holding the hammer away as they grappled.

A spasm ran through the huntress's body and her legs buckled. Ashura yanked the sword free and the other woman sank to her knees. The hammer crackled and disappeared as the huntress involuntarily let it go. Her face was clinched in pain.

Another war cry came from Ashura's lips as she pivoted and brought her sword back. She swung with all her strength and the huntress's head flew into the air, twin geysers of blood briefly pumping from the stump of her neck before her body slumped to the grass.

Her fury spent, Ashura dropped to her knees. She panted and doubled over. An assassin at every stop so far. She was really starting to hate inns.

Her companions found her there a few moments later. Imoen rushed to her first, wrapping her arms around Ashura's shoulders. "Oh Shura!" Imoen squealed. "I thought…I was so worried…"

Jaheira managed to peel Imoen away and examine Ashura's injuries. The warm and familiar glow of healing magic mended Ashura's bent and bleeding nose and the blow to her abdomen hadn't broken any ribs. A search of the body led them to believe that the crested helmet was enchanted in some way, but the huntress had little else of value on her. And of course she carried another bounty notice. The price on Ashura's head was still three-hundred-and-fifty gold.

Ashura was worried that the innkeep would throw them out, but he was actually apologetic, telling them that he had suspected the Malarite would be trouble. There was a hot bath waiting in a large wooden tub when they got to their room, and Ashura was grateful to wash the blood off when her turn came around.


	5. Chapter 5 - Dark as a Dungeon

**5 – Dark as a Dungeon**

_"__Better a hoard of raging bugbears than a clever kobold pack."_ –Ribald Barterman_, Old Ribald's Guide to Dungeoneering_

* * *

Gorion was marching her through a dark forest, past clinging brambles and over rotting logs. Her short little legs could barely keep up, and the looming figure of her father was drifting further and further away with every branch that slapped her face or root that tripped her foot. Soon Gorion's silhouette was at the edge of her vision and she panicked and ran.

When she turned the corner around a tree her father was gone entirely. She kept running, dodging past trees and ducking under the wicked claws of branches that seemed to be trying to grasp her; to pluck and pull her up into the darkness.

She broke through the trees and found herself on a wide path. Ahead it branched in many directions, some leading into mist, others into darkness, and down some she thought she saw thick black smoke. As she stepped forward the central path became clear. It was wide and straight; an orderly tunnel that cut through the trees and branches.

Perhaps she walked towards that wide, inviting path, or perhaps she was pulled. Either way the pull was definite and powerful a few steps later. Gravity shifted and the open path seemed to slope now. Sharply. Then iIt was not a forest path at all but a mine-shaft and she was sliding. Sliding and then falling into the earth.

Far far below the shape of a leering skull was etched into the ground. It came to life as flames burst from the floor, illuminating its outline. Somewhere in the darkness a deep booming voice laughed as she fell.

With a gasp Ashura started awake and sat up in bed. There was a strange tingling in her left hand, and to her shock when she looked down her palm was glowing with a faint blue-white light. She felt bodies stirring beside her, Imoen at her right and Jaheira at her left. With an instinctive act of will she forced the glow to subside.

"Is something wrong child?" Jaheira asked sleepily.

"Bad dream," Ashura replied as she lay back down. "Sorry." Within moments Jaheira's breathing was gentle and even again. Khalid, who lay past Jaheira on the far end of the bed, never stirred. The wide single bed had forced them to pack in rather snuggly, and Ashura was keenly aware that her movements would disturb the others.

Once again she lay there for a long time, the nightmare playing again and again in her mind, unable to sleep. That glowing skull with its halo of tears was still there whenever she closed her eyes. Perhaps she drifted off a few times before dawn finally came and the four companions began to rise and prepare for the day. It was enough to half-convince herself that the glow in the palm of her hand had just been a dream as well.

As they got dressed and assembled their gear Ashura noticed that Jaheira was putting on something different than her usual padded leather. After slipping a simple green tunic over her head the druidess pulled a heavy looking piece of metal armor on and began to adjust what must have been a dozen straps. The armor consisted of a coat of interlocking metal splints with rounded shoulder-plates and a series of metal-on-leather straps that covered her loins. Khalid helped tighten the armor at the back as Jaheira put a simple steel helmet with a nose-guard on her head and strapped it to her chin. Finally she strapped a heavy wood and metal kite shield to her back, a replacement for the smaller shield she had been carrying.

"You bought that at the smithy?" Ashura asked.

Jaheira nodded. "Who knows what we will face down in the mine. I thought I'd be prepared. And you should as well." With that Jaheira pulled something out of her pack and handed it to Ashura. It was a helmet, of finder make than Jaheira's and topped with a red plume.

"Uh, this was the huntress' right?" Ashura asked.

"Aye," Jaheira said. "Xzar tested the enchantment last night and I believe it would work best for you. Put it on."

Ashura gave her a dubious look and then shrugged, placing the helmet on her head. There was no noticeable effect.

Jaheira walked to the room's single window and drew the curtains tight. The light noticeably dimmed and Ashura began to see a faint red glow emanating from the half-elf's body. Glancing around she saw the same sort of glow coming from Imoen and Khalid. It was a wavering light that roughly matched her companion's silhouettes.

"Look at the floor," Jaheira instructed. Looking down Ashura noticed faint bits of red light crisscrossing the room. They were roughly the size and shape of footprints.

Ashura gasped. "Wow. Is this…this is infravision isn't it?"

"Exactly," Jaheira replied. "With the helmet you can see heat the way Khalid and I can. Very useful in the dark."

"Aww," Imoen complained. "And I'll be blind as a bat."

"You can have the helmet if you really want," Ashura offered. "But I bet it would cramp your style. You ever train to aim a bow with a helmet on?"

"Nope," Imoen said. "Not to mention it's hard to sneak around when your head's clanging against stuff. But I call dibs on the next darkvision ring or necklace we come across!"

"Deal."

* * *

Their guide to the Nashkel mines was an energetic female soldier who led them on the long trek up into the mountains with a spry step. She explained that the mine was built high in the rocky feet of the slopes, a good eight miles from the green plains where Nashkel's farms prospered. The path grew steeper and steeper beneath the green silhouettes of the Cloudpeak Mountains which rose before them into a dull grey sky. Thick clouds clung to the mountains, threatening rain that never quite materialized.

As they climbed the guide explained that the mine was relatively new, dug roughly thirty years ago. "It wasn't built on any old ruins or natural caverns," she said. "You always hear about monsters crawling out of those, but it's odd that something would be sweeping in and haunting our little mine."

The trees thinned out and then disappeared completely as they came to a craggy plateau that had been clear-cut long ago. Ahead were several crude wooden buildings. The guide told them that they were barracks for the miners and guards along with several supply sheds and other outbuildings. The mine itself was a quarried-out hole in the earth several hundred feet wide.

A wooden stairway led into the pit and the lone entrance into the ground was at the far end of the quarry. Wooden struts propped the earthen doorway up and a series of rail tracks led through the middle. Mining carts, both empty and full, sat upon the rails here and there. The gravel floor of the pit crunched beneath their boots as the party made its way across.

Three heavily armored Amnish soldiers guarded the entrance of the tunnel, standing behind a tall, gruff looking man with sandy blonde hair and well-made work clothes. The man scowled at the group as they approached and the guide rushed ahead. "These are the adventurers the mayor called for," the soldier explained.

The man continued to scowl. "Well," he spat, "if it's Berrun's orders I won't stand in the way, but they'd better behave themselves down there in my mine. I won't tolerate any smashing of my equipment or abusing of my men."

Jaheira raised a placating hand. "Understood," she said. "We are merely here to investigate."

"Hmph. Well investigate gently and be out as quick as ya can," the supervisor said before stomping off.

The guards at the entrance silently parted, and after bidding goodbye to their guide the party walked under the struts and into the darkness. A few paces in the tunnel began to descend down wood-braced steps. Soon the sunlight was gone, replaced by the dancing flicker of regularly placed torches.

They were startled as Xzar let out a giddy sounding, childlike sigh. "Oh," he sang. "I'm never quite so comfortable as when I'm at least six feet under."

Ashura giggled and the rest gave Xzar uncomfortable looks. He just kept trudging forward, smiling at the ceiling. Today his face was painted with a pattern that resembled a skull.

Soon the tunnel opened up into a wider cavern where the mining rails split out in many directions and carts sat idle, a few piled high with raw ore, most empty. The constant tink-tink of picks striking stone echoed through the tunnels and spindly miners in short, rough-spun pants and shirts rested by the carts. Xzar approached one of the men and casually asked where to find the "monsters."

The haggard old miner just chuckled.

"We are investigating whatever is tainting the iron," Jaheira explained, "and need to know the layout of the mine."

The miner nodded and explained that most of the tunnels eventually dead-ended or connected to each other in a loop. Only the far southeast tunnel spiraled down to the lower level, which the miner described as a less orderly honeycomb of crisscrossing and downward-sloping paths.

Before descending they decided to methodically explore each tunnel on the upper level. The guards and miners that they met told them a little about the creatures that haunted the mine, saying that a few men had seen red eyes glowing in the dark. Growing up in Candlekeep Imoen and Ashura had both read their share of bestiaries, but eyes glowing red in the dark could belong to a large number of different creatures, from fearsome spined devils down to lowly goblins.

Another clue came when they found a series of unattended ore carts around a lonely bend of the track. Khalid and Jaheira both squatted and Ashura followed. With the vision granted by her helmet she could see pairs of faint red tracks glowing beside the carts. They were small and strangely shaped with three pointy, elongated toes.

As the dim glow of the heat-tracks began to fade Jaheira tugged at Ashura's arm and the two began to follow one of the sets. They quickened their pace and Jaheira gestured for the rest to fall in behind her. Soon they were jogging along, eyes fixed on the glowing markers. Imoen made a confused sound but Jaheira shushed her with a rough hand-gesture. The glow of the trail seemed to grow brighter and brighter and-

-Then it abruptly vanished. They searched a bit, confused. Was there a crack in the wall somewhere? How had the creature slipped away?

The answer came with a twang and the whistle of an arrow. It struck Khalid's helmet with a loud clang. He whirled towards the source of the attack, his shield rising just in time to block a second shot. The arrows were coming from ahead and above, and looking up Ashura saw the red glow of two small forms sitting on top of a wooden strut that did not quite reach the ceiling of the mine.

Imoen had an arrow knocked and a confused look on her face. "They're up there!" Ashura shouted and pointed. Imoen tilted her bow and fired at the strut but the arrow struck the roof of the mine, missing entirely.

With her sling whirling above her head Jaheira took aim and hurled a stone. One of the creatures let out a high-pitched yelp and its small body fell to the floor. There was another plink and an arrow struck Jaheira's chest. The blow made her hop back but the arrow bounced off her armor.

The second little creature hopped down to the floor of the mine. The one that had fallen to the floor somehow managed to rise to its feet and together they turned and fled, jumping high in the air with each stride.

The fresh heat-tracks of the creatures led back into the main chamber of the mine and disappeared in the crisscrossing tracks of a group of miners or a patrol of soldiers that had recently passed through. The two half-elves and Ashura searched for a time but soon the tracks faded and the trail went cold.

Ashura broke the silence. "What in the hells were those things anyway?" she asked.

"They looked like uh…little kangaroos," Imoen volunteered. "At least the way they hopped."

"Kanga-whats?" Ashura asked.

"Kangaroos. They're like deer but they stand up on their hind legs with these enormous feet and they can hop really far. I read about them in some book from Kara-Tur. They're from some island around there."

Ashura shook her head. "There was nothing deer-like about those things. Their heads looked kind of like crocodiles. Definitely reptilian."

Khalid spoke up, "K-kobolds. I think those w-were kobolds."

"Aye," Montaron concurred. "I'm pretty sure those were kobolds. Nasty, tricky little creatures. Best be on your guard."

One of the plates over Jaheira's right breast was bent a bit and there was a dent in Khalid's helmet, but they were fine otherwise. After a quick regrouping they cautiously entered the tunnel that led to the lower levels. The path sloped gradually and turned, going on for what seemed like ages before it opened into a wider chamber.

A scream echoed through the cavern, then another. From the darkness a stocky, shirtless man ran towards them. He dropped to his knees, breathless, in front of Ashura. "The…the demons," the man stammered.

"Where?" Ashura asked, peering into the darkness and whipping her swords from their scabbards.

"The yipping," the man panted, finding his feet. "Yipping demons…"

"Uh…" Ashura narrowed her eyes.

The man opened his mouth to explain but nothing besides a raspy choke came out. The sound was followed by a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. The man staggered and fell forward. There was a red-feathered arrow in the back of his neck and several down his body.

"Shit!" Ashura gasped as she ducked low. An arrow whistled over her head. There, ahead in the darkness, crouched two small forms glowing with heat. As they reached to knock more arrows she charged, clearing the ground between them before the bows could be drawn again.

The creatures did indeed yip shortly before she kicked one of them and slashed at the second. The slash sent the beast scurrying back and the kick knocked the other to the floor where she ran it through.

Turning from her kill Ashura saw at least five more of the scaly little creatures hopping out from crevices and hiding places between wooden braces. They were armed with short swords and intent on overwhelming her. A line from Thorin Avshar's combat manual "The Decisive Stroke" came to mind: "If you let them set the tempo of battle you have already lost."

So she refused to let the little lizards set the tempo. Charging. Slashing. Stabbing. Stomping. Always moving, driven by reflex and instinct, she pushed into the melee and through it. Scales, steel and blood whirled around her, all in a blur.

With a stomp to the throat and a crunch the fifth kobold shuddered and ceased moving. Ashura turned and looked around the cavern but all was still now. She caught her breath, wincing a bit. At some point Khalid had joined in beside her. His shield was dented and the blade of his bastard-sword was slick with blood.

Ashura's chainmail coat was torn in several places and she was bleeding from a couple of shallow slashes. That was fixed quickly enough with a healing prayer from Jaheira, and then they went to examining the dead reptiles.

The creatures did indeed resemble crocodiles, or at least their heads did. Their bodies had roughly the proportions of a halfling, though far skinnier, and since they gave off heat they were obviously warm-blooded. The old bestiaries said that kobolds were extremely distant cousins to dragons.

On the bodies were mismatched weapons, mostly short swords and bows, and simple roughspun tunics. Also several of the creatures carried green glass vials attached to their belts.

Imoen and Xzar both examined the strange liquid. "Hmm," Xzar hummed, turning the glass around and around in his hand as he sniffed the uncorked bottle. "There's definitely a hint of death here. Of rot and rust and…delicious impurities."

"You can uh, smell all that? Death?" Imoen asked. "I just smell something acidic and some heavy metals."

"Oh, anyone can smell death my dear. It is the most pungent and obvious scent of all. But the essence of corrosion; death distilled. That is a specialty of mine, and I recognize it well." He hummed to himself, putting the stopper back into the vial.

Imoen shook her head. "Regardless, I'd bet anything this is how those sneaky little lizards are messing up the ore."

"Yeah," Ashura grunted. "Definitely seems like some sort of sabotage operation."

They formed up again and crept further into the darkness. It was eerily silent now, and there was no sign of more miners. As they wound their way around a bend the silence was broken by the groan of a bow being pulled. Ashura tried to duck but winced as she felt the arrow strike her squarely in the chest. The chainmail did its job and deflected the arrowhead, though bits of the armor fell to the cave floor in the process. Two more arrows flew by her and she heard Khalid let out a pained gasp.

Ashura charged. In the dark ahead she could hear the little creatures panting as they fled before her. Little bastards were trying to hit and run now, wear them down. The corridor they were running down quickly opened up into a wider cavern. She could hear the rush of water all around, perhaps from some sort of underground river.

Her foot struck something and there was a loud creak to her right. Before she could react something heavy struck her in the side. The wind was knocked from her lungs and she was flung off her feet and into the air.

With a cold jolt she hit the surface of the underground river and nearly blacked out. Involuntarily she gasped and took in a lungful of water. Her arms flailed but the light above was dimming. She was sinking! Her armor was dragging her down.

Fighting back panic and the burning in her lungs Ashura tore at her belt. She managed to rip it away and quickly shrugged out of the chain shirt. The metal-studded leathers she wore beneath threatened to drag her down anyway but as she kicked and flailed the light above her grew.

Her arms broke the surface, and then her head came clear. She coughed and swung her arms, her hands slapping against the stone surface of the walkway. Eventually she found enough of a handhold to pull herself halfway out of the water and then crawl on hands and knees onto the stone.

Ashura coughed and coughed until she was retching up water and what remained of her breakfast. As she caught her breath she heard the earsplitting yelp of a dying kobold nearby. The sound startled her onto her feet. The creature fell face first onto the stone as Montaron twirled his blood-drenched sword casually. Apparently that was the last of the kobolds, at least for this ambush.

In addition to the dead kobolds there were human bodies lying all around them, miners it appeared from their dress. Red feathered arrows peppered most of the bodies and with her infravision Ashura saw that some of them still held a little heat. Freshly dead. Probably the group that miner who had screamed about yipping demons was from.

It took Ashura a few more moments to fully catch her breath. Imoen walked over and squatted beside her. She offered Ashura a wet sack, which she recognized a moment later. Her backpack. It was soaked but apparently Imoen had been able to pull it from the river. One of her swords lay on the walkway, but her belt, other sword and her scabbards were gone, along with the healing potion she had attached to it. And her chainmail shirt. _Damn_.

With a hoarse voice Ashura muttered, "Okay, trying to chase these bastards down is a really bad idea."

"Agreed," Jaheira said sternly. "We have to be cautious from here out. The deeper we go the more traps there will be. Montaron and Imoen, you'll need to take the lead. Try to stay low and retreat if you come under fire."

They both nodded grimly.

Ashura managed to find a second short sword that suited her among the dead kobolds. She stowed it and the other sword in her pack for now, though, and picked up a short bow and a quiver of arrows from another corpse. She had never been a good archer, but it seemed like a better weapon to carry at the ready for now.

With more than a little trepidation the group began to creep deeper into the earth.

* * *

**Author's Note: **For those curious about Dungeons and Dragons-y things Ashura's a barbarian, though more in a "favoring a fast, lightly armored fighting style" sense than the "channeling Uthgardt animal spirits" sense. I'm also _generally_ writing this story with 3.5 edition rules in mind (in which case Ashura has at least one level of fighter, since she's literate and has a bunch of duel weapon feats.)

I also wrote her with the chaotic neutral alignment in mind, though where she goes morally might (or might not,) change depending on where the story goes.


	6. Chapter 6 - Crucible Forged

**6 – Crucible Forged**

_"The hotter the flames the purer the ingot." –_old dwarven proverb

* * *

"This definitely be the place," Montaron remarked as he traced a finger against the jagged stone opening. "It looks like all natural-type caverns past this point. Hot too." The gap was short and narrow. It would be a tight fit for the armored members of the group.

This seemed to be the spot (or one of the spots,) where the kobolds had broken through into the mining complex from a nearby series of natural caves. From the black and wavy nature of the stone walls within it seemed the cavern had been carved by magma.

"Well?" Jaheira asked, her eyes on Montaron.

"Well what?" the halfling barked back. "Looks like a prime place for an ambush. I ain't sticking me neck out first."

"Pfft," Imoen rolled her lips. "I'll do it." Before anyone could object she knelt and wriggled through the gap, staying low to the ground and close to the walls of the cave as she silently slipped out of view.

After a few unnerving moments of silence Imoen appeared again and gestured for them to move forward. One by one they slipped into the cave. On the other side they chose a tunnel more or less at random and began to creep forward.

Soon sweat was trickling from their brows as the heat that radiated from the walls and floor grew more and more intense. Ashura's sight was eventually blotted out by nothing but red and a heartbeat later her infravision went out the way it would in daylight.

For about thirty paces they made their way through the darkness, guided only by the tourches that Imoen and Khalid carried. Then they turned a corner and came upon a red light glowing in the distance. As they drew closer the ground seemed to rumble beneath them, and the sound soon became a mix of grinding and gurgling.

It became clear what the source of the sound was when the tunnel opened into a massive chamber several hundred feet above a hellish glowing light. A magma-flow. The path ahead of them spanned the chamber along what seemed to be a natural bridge, and there was a tunnel at the far end.

They slowed almost to a halt, inching along the ground with Montaron in the lead. There would be no swimming back to the surface if one of those log-traps caught someone here. Montaron had only gone a few paces across the bridge when he stopped fully, his gloved hands fiddling with something on the ground. With a careful slash of his dagger the halfling severed a tripwire and pushed it aside. He crept another three paces then stopped again, frowning as he examined a second hidden bit of rope.

The creak of a bow echoed off the cavern walls and Montaron immediately leapt to his feet and scrambled backwards. An arrow struck and clattered against the dusty ground where the halfling had knelt a breath before. Backing up Montaron cringed and ducked as something white-hot and crackling flew by his head. The burning arrow struck the ground a finger-width from the tip of Imoen's boot and sent her hopping backwards as sparks flew. She backed towards the tunnel and knocked an arrow.

Ashura crouched a few paces behind and knocked an arrow of her own. It was hard to tell but the little lizards seemed to have cover at the end of the bridge. Nothing in view for a few beats, then there was movement at the lip of the opening and she let the bowstring go. The arrow missed broadly but sent the kobold ducking back into cover.

At the other side of the opening a second kobold popped out and sent another burning arrow hissing through the air. Ashura cringed as sparks and embers struck her leg but she managed to knock an arrow and hold steady. The little reptile had ducked back behind the rocks but the other archer had popped back into view, and she aimed for his head.

Her arrow missed dramatically but the kobold's didn't. It struck Imoen in the thigh, causing her own arrow to shoot wildly. Imoen let out of a scream of pain and the leg that was stuck went wobbly.

Ashura rushed forward and slipped am arm around Imoen's waist, dragging her friend back a couple of paces and into the shelter of the nearby tunnel. The cave walls around were pretty smooth and unlike the kobold's spot it offered relatively little cover. More arrows whistled past them as Imoen and Montaron both huddled against the walls. Xzar gasped as an arrow flew past his face. Meanwhile Ashura took another wild shot with her bow that arched far short and plunged towards the magma.

Gritting her teeth she threw her bow down and snatched her swords from her pack. "Fuck this," she growled, then charged across the bridge, leaping over the tripwire that Montaron had left behind. Two paces farther and she felt something under her boot click.

No choice; she kept running. There was a rush of air behind her as three crossbow bolts whistled across the bridge, one missing her hip by a finger-length. She bent forward and dashed the remaining six paces to the far tunnel, coming face to face with a red-scaled kobold that was lifting a bow and aiming a burning arrow point-blank. A slash from Ashura's left-hand sword sent the bow and arrow flying from the creature's hands and a slash from the right cut the kobold down.

There was a stabbing pain in her back and Ashura whirled around, facing a kobold with dull yellow scales that held an empty bow. It tried to turn and flee but a slash sent it flying off its feet and another opened its throat. Every twist and motion of her body sent spikes of agony through her left side, but there was no time to dwell on that.

The darkness before her was full of glowing red eyes.

The little creatures all rushed her at once now. Daggers stabbed at her thighs, claws gripped at her armor, all trying to overwhelm her and bring her down. Ashura kicked and slashed and whirled in a tangle of blood and steel and scales. There were yips and yelps of pain and some of the small reptilian bodies went still or fell back.

There was another jolt of stabbing pain in her side, near the arrow wound. A knife maybe. Her feet faltered and her knees hit the stone. With a deep intake of breath she tried to push herself back up and felt a weight on her upper back as claws dug in. Before she could react her breath left her as something tightly constricted against her neck.

Ashura could feel the kobold brace itself on her back and pull, using a bowstring as a makeshift garrote. Her sword fell from her left hand as she grabbed at the cord and tried to pull. No relief. She grappled and pulled at the creature's claws but the pressure didn't change.

There was an intense heat at Ashura's cheeks and her lunges burned as she wobbled fully to her feet. She turned and slammed the creature on her back against the cave wall. It shuddered but kept its grip. She felt a wave of pain that threatened to make her pass out as the arrow in her back got pushed in and worried by the motion.

Heedless of the pain she bent forward and reared back again. There was a crunching sound that she hoped was a bone breaking in the kobold but the pressure at her neck didn't lift. The pain at her side was excruciating. She lurched forward, hobbling from the wall. There had to be a-

Her sword! She still held a sword in her right hand. Bringing the blade close to her face, she tried to steady her hand as she struggled with the creature on her back. The edge of the weapon brushed against her face and then rubbed against the bowstring. The kobold tried to twist harder on Ashura's back and she rolled with it, her sword sawing up and down against the rope.

The bowstring squeezed stubbornly for a few more terrifying heartbeats. All of Ashura's breath was spent; her chest on fire. Then the string began to fray. A ragged breath entered Ashura's lungs as it snapped. The kobold lost its balance and rolled off her back, a claw still clinging to her shoulder. She snatched at the creature and managed to grab it by the neck.

With a sudden burst of fury Ashura lifted the creature, turned and hurled it. The kobold's arms, legs and tail all flailed at once as it went flying past the lip of the cavern and out into the stifling air over the magma pit.

With that Ashura's legs gave out again and she stumbled backwards. She flopped against the wall and sank down as she gulped breath after ragged breath, her vision blurred by tears.

_No. Can't rest. Not now._ Ashura shook herself and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. As her vision cleared she saw Khalid, Montaron and Jaheira standing in the cavern, their backs to her and their armor covered in blood. Tails and legs and arms were twitching as the last of the kobolds died.

Finding her fallen sword Ashura pushed herself unsteadily up and onto her feet. She kept herself braced against the wall as she continued to try and catch her breath. Imoen limped over through the archway, Xzar following close beside her.

"M-more!" Khalid shouted in alarm over the panting that echoed through the cavern. Ashura looked up in time to see the darkness again fill with glowing red eyes. How many of the little buggers where there?!

Jaheira and Khalid's shields locked as they faced the newcomers, and the kobolds fanned out. Over the crackle and roll of the great magma flow Ashura could hear Xzar humming close by. Despite the magma it suddenly felt like there was a chill in the air and an involuntary shiver ran down Ashura's spine.

Xzar stretched his spindly fingers out and trails of mist extended from their tips, sinking into the stone close to the row of dead kobolds. Sudden shudders went through three of the corpses, then with quick, jerking motions the little reptiles found their swords and daggers and slowly hobbled to their feet.

Order broke down in the column of glowing eyes on the far side of the room. They glanced around and looked at each other nervously; some backing away as three of their former companions lined up and began to trot towards them.

The living kobolds were still in shock when Jaheira and Khalid charged into their ranks, still shield to shield as they punched their way through the loose formation. Imoen sent an arrow flying and Ashura followed. She felt like she was dragging her body forward, sluggish from blood-loss, but when the kobold she faced squeaked and charged her with a sword swinging she had to react quickly. Their weapons locked.

The shock the undead kobolds caused did more damage than the three slow-moving creatures actually could. Xzar's new pets did manage to drag some of their former companions to the ground, clawing and stabbing, but the rest of the disorganized group fell to the swords, arrows and clubs of the living.

Somewhere in the melee Ashura had lost her left-hand weapon. Instead her hand was gripping the shoulder of a kobold, lifting it up and stabbing again and again until the creature was still and the forward motion and weight carried her to a far wall. When she reached it she leaned forward heavily and tried again to catch her breath. She slid down the wall a bit, leaving a trail of blood.

No more glowing eyes now. Even Xzar's undead creatures had slumped to the ground; either they were too damaged by the fight or the spell was spent. Hoarse breath followed breath. Still no more eyes appeared. No third wave. Thank Talos. Ashura slumped down further, all the way to the ground; limbs tangled with the dead kobold on her sword as she wavered in and out of consciousness.

* * *

"Shura! Shura! Can you hear me?" It was Imoen's voice.

Ashura managed a faint nod and her eyes fluttered a bit.

"This is gunna hurt a lot. Sorry. Then you need to drink this."

"Imoen, you're not making any sense," Ashura mumbled. She started to speak again, questions on her lips, but then there was yank and intense pain in her side. Turning her head back she let out a howl. "Ahh! Fuck! Loviatar's pimply assss that hurts!"

"Just shut up and drink this!" Imoen implored, pressing the lip of a glass bottle against Ashura's mouth. Trying to steady herself and her breathing Ashura gulped the liquid down. It was surprisingly sweet.

The stabbing pain at her side was replaced by an intense itch that made her shiver. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times, her hand clutching her side. It seemed like the arrow and stab wounds there had closed.

"Had to pull the arrowhead out and give you a healing potion," Imoen explained. "Jaheira said she used her last healing prayer on my leg. Sorry."

Ashura shook her head, beginning to collect herself and find her feet. _Woah! Still a bit unsteady._ "It's fine," she said. "Sorry to get chopped up like that."

"It's the way of battle lass," Montaron said. "Damn risky sometimes. Least there's a lot more of 'em dead than us." Ashura glanced around. Jaheira looked as haggard and tired as Ashura felt and Khalid's armor was pretty battered but they were all in one piece. And there seemed to be well over a dozen of the little reptile corpses on the ground. Wow.

* * *

About a hundred paces down a side passage they found a camp that the kobolds had been using. There was a crude wooden barricade (basically a sawhorse with some wooden shields attached,) at the narrowest point of the passage, then it opened up into a larger cave dominated by a pool that steamed and bubbled. No doubt it was heated by the magma below. There were beds of animal-hide and dried cave-moss spread out away from the pool, and a circle of stones surrounded the ashes of a firepit. A few barrels sat against a wall but a search revealed that they were empty. No kobolds seemed to remain and there was no sign of any back-passages unless they were under the water.

The party sat down among the beds. Ashura faced the tunnel and held her swords at the ready. "I'll need to rest to recover my spells," Jaheira stated. "This may be the best spot we could come upon."

"Unless they send patrols here regularly," Ashura grumbled. "But yeah. Sorry. We need all the spells we can get and this place seems defensible."

They settled in as best they could, Khalid fixing his eyes on the tunnel while Jaheira and Xzar spread their bedrolls out. Once it seemed safe Ashura pulled some of the linens out of her pack. Setting her helmet down she stood and then wriggled out of her armored tunic.

"Thinking of taking a dip?" Imoen asked. "The kobolds seem to have a nice little hotsprings here."

"Not a chance," Ashura said as she quickly wrapped some of the white cloth against her wounds and around her bare waist. "Bad enough I lost the chainmail, I'm _not_ letting these things catch me without armor." With the bandages tight she quickly pulled the tunic back on, tying it as best she could with a bit of rope. It didn't cinch nearly as well as her old belt had.

They supped a little on dried fruit and nuts and then Jaheira and Xzar went to bed. Since the main point of resting here was to let those two recover their magic it was up to the others to stand guard. "I suppose I can take first shift," Ashura whispered, "but how exactly do we time that?"

"J-just guard until you f-feel exhausted," Khalid said, smiling slightly. "Then come wake me."

The little barricade seemed a good place to stand guard so Ashura paced about there, her swords set in loops of her rope belt. The magma was far enough away that her infravision worked again, but there was nothing but a dull red glow before her eyes. The kobolds would hopefully appear a bit brighter then the background heat. Or maybe cooler. She wasn't that sure what the body heat of a kobold actually was. The books always emphasized the "distant cousins of dragons" bit but she was pretty sure none of these things were close to breathing fire.

It was hard to tell time but it seemed like exhaustion came sooner rather than later. Ashura tried to fight it with fidgeting, pacing and trying to remember all she could about kobold lore but eventually she found her head nodding and decided to go rouse Khalid and turn in. Despite the aches all over her body and the hard stone floor she passed out as soon as she had the bedroll wrapped around her.

* * *

"Alarm! Alarm!" Imoen's shouts sent Ashura lurching up and out of her sleeping-roll. As she slipped on her helmet and hefted her swords the smell of burning wood hit her nostrils. No doubt more of those damn fire arrows.

Her first thought was to check on Xzar. She found him a few paces away standing over his bedroll, glancing around with bleary eyes. "You're okay?" she asked him, and he nodded.

As Ashura smiled with relief she caught sight of something behind the mage. A faintly glowing form crouched at the far wall, crawling forward and holding a long dagger. There was another creature creeping behind it, then another. Ashura grabbed Xzar by the shoulders and pushed him back, interposing herself.

Realizing that they'd been spotted two of the kobolds gave up on stealth and charged her, each moving in a separate direction. As they did the third kobold finished climbing from a crack in the wall that even Montaron wouldn't have been able to fit through. The opening was in a spot that had been covered by barrels when they first found the camp.

_Of course_ the kobolds would have a secret backdoor. _Of course_ the party would have missed it.

The first two reptiles were at either side of Ashura now and they attacked at once. They each had a long knife, she had two swords. They had planned to overwhelm her. She had trained to fight this way.

Keeping the kobolds at either side Ashura rushed the one on her right and hacked at the creature's wrist as the distance closed in a flash. The little lizard yelped and dropped its knife. By then Ashura had passed the wounded kobold and turned, keeping its body between her and the other attacker. To seal the deal she drove her left-hand sword into the kobold's back and turned with the second creature, using the squirming body of its companion as a shield. A few feint's later and she drove her right sword through the second kobold's eye.

There was a crackle in the air as a beam of inky blackness flew past Ashura. She followed its trail and saw the blast strike a fourth kobold that had crawled through the crack and dragged a bow along with it. The bow clattered to the floor as the creature bent over, fighting for breath, limbs limp as noodles.

Ashura rushed the creature and took it down completely with a couple of slashes. The other kobold was lying on its back nearby, arms curled up and deathly thin like it had been struck with one of Xzar's life-draining spells. Ashura gave it a stomp to the neck to make sure it was dead.

Two more steps and she was at the crack in the wall. No glow or sign of movement inside. She turned towards the tunnel at the other end of the cavern. Khalid and Jaheira were there, standing over a handful of small corpses and panting heavily as Montaron walked from body to body, kicking them with his toe. Behind them smoke rose from the smoldering barricade where several flaming arrows had struck.

"Where's Imoen?" Ashura asked as she jogged up to the two half-elves. They glanced about. Silence.

With growing horror Ashura looked around. No human body lay in sight, but there was no sign of her friend either. She turned to the tunnel and began to run.

"Ashura! Wait!" Jaheira's shout echoed off the walls but she ignored it. There, on the floor before her: heat tracks. Two pairs of kobold feet and a smear of dissipating red sliding along the floor between them. That must be from Imoen's body.

_Please still be alive_, Ashura thought, turning one corner and then another. There were countless side-passages but it didn't matter. She had a trail. She _would _catch them. There may be traps but it didn't matter either. If she had to follow them through the flames of Gehenna she would.

As Ashura's anger drove her forward a ghostly blue-white light bloomed from her left fist. When she whipped around a corner the kobolds came into sight, each holding one of Imoen's arms as they dragged her limp body along as fast as they could.

Ashura tossed her left sword down as her rage seemed to well up and take a physical form in the palm of her hand. The light grew and crackled as she flung it towards one of the fleeing kobolds. It struck the creature in the back, and for a brief moment there was a pale stream of light connecting her hand with its body.

The kobold slowed and stumbled, losing its grip on Imoen, and for a moment Ashura could feel the creature's pulse and body-heat. She could feel it all crossing the gap between her hand and its body. The half-healed injuries at her side closed completely and she felt a renewed strength fill her. At the same time she felt the kobold's heartbeat flutter…then cease.

The second reptile had let go of Imoen and yanked a sword from its belt. Ashura charged the creature before it could think to point the weapon at Imoen. Three slashes later she managed to slide her sword down along the edge of her enemy's and bury the edge of her blade into its skull. She gave the creature a hack to the neck for good measure and kicked it aside, then leaned down over Imoen.

There was a little blood on her friend's forehead but with a few shakes Imoen's eyes fluttered open and she squinted up at Ashura. A moment later she sat up, rubbing her head. Once Imoen had recovered a bit she managed to stand with Ashura's assistance. Together they turned and hobbled back towards the camp, the taller girl taking most of the weight.

From time to time Ashura stole glances at her hand. The glow was gone now but the question remained: what in the hells was that power?

Supposedly people whose ancestors were mystical creatures could sometimes perform minor magical feats. Some descendants of elemental beings could fly briefly or produce flames, and some with demonic ancestors could call upon magical darkness. Usually these people were described as having odd appearances. If the blood of genies is thick enough in you that you can levitate it's also likely to give you sky-blue skin and hair the color of clouds. Or so the books said. As far as Ashura knew she was simply a human of Damaran stock and there was nothing odd about her appearance beyond eyes that were a lighter shade of blue than most.

And the power had not been anything elemental. It seemed like she had pulled the life-force from that kobold. She was no expert on magic but that fact and the resemblance between what she had done and the spells Xzar often used led her to believe that she had worked some sort of necromancy. Death-magic. What kind of ancestor would have given her _that_?

She shook her head slightly. It was something to ponder but there were no answers to be found from staring at her hand. The tunnels snaked off in countless directions but by following her own footprints she managed to find the camp easily enough. Infravision sure came in handy.

As they walked past the smoldering barricade Jaheira looked up and gave them a pained smile.

"We cannot break camp yet," the druidess stated once they had settled in. "I need a little more time to fully regain the blessings of the Oak Father." Without explaining further she turned from them, sitting in a cross-legged pose and closing her eyes.

After Imoen declined a healing potion Ashura sat down and helped her friend wrap a few bandages around her brow while Xzar and Montaron returned to their bedrolls to catch whatever rest they could. Ashura couldn't imagine how they managed that. Adrenaline had her wide awake. For several tense hours (or perhaps it was only a single hour, so hard to tell down here,) they sat at the edge of the camp watching the darkness.

* * *

The tunnels had begun to gradually slope upwards and the heat that had blinded their infravision had long faded from the walls, though for Imoen and Xzar's sake they traveled by torchlight. Here and there the sound of dripping water echoed. The black rippling stone had disappeared and the new caverns they walked seemed to have been carved by water. It was hard to tell in this cold damp maze if they were on track to the layer of the kobolds, but the path they followed was one of the few that had not dead-ended yet.

Montaron and Imoen were hunched and in the lead, their eyes constantly sweeping along the floor. They had found a few tripwires several hours earlier near the kobold camp but from there it was lifeless catacombs. Ashura wondered if they had missed some hidden entrance, but this seemed as good a direction to go as any for now. She walked behind Khalid and Jaheira at the moment. The couple had their shields up and at the ready.

The distant sound of dripping gradually turned into a louder, distorted gurgle. A little further and it became clear that it was the sound of an underground stream. The tunnel narrowed until they almost had to go single-file – hemmed in by both the walls and low-hanging stalactites – as the flowing water finally became visible. The path they were on crossed a narrow, natural bridge: a pillar that had fallen across the fast-flowing creek ages ago.

They slowed their pace considerably as they approached. The water was rushing fast below the bridge and it was impossible to tell how deep the stream went. The surface of the bridge itself was a bit rounded at the edges but it seemed wide enough for one to cross easily. If they went two at a time they'd have to be more cautious. It was covered in the same sort of sandy dust as the rest of the cave floor and the dampness made it almost muddy.

Imoen and Montaron conferred with a glance and then began to inch along the surface of the bridge, nearly crawling. A few feet in Imoen gasped sharply and made a halting gesture, then pointed. Ashura craned her neck to see. Sure enough there was something protruding from the dust under the flicker of Imoen's torchlight. Something jagged, like teeth. With the end of her bow Imoen gave the floor a quick tap, and in response there was a loud metallic snap and something jumped out of the dust. A steel foot-trap.

Twangs echoed from the far side of the bridge. Suddenly flames lit the walls, arching towards Imoen and Montaron. Khalid and Jaheira had both lunged forward at the sound of the bowstrings and managed to impose their shields over the two scouts. Sparks and cinders flew as the arrows struck both shields, and Jaheira let out yelp and turned her head away as flames licked at her face.

At least the kobolds had become predictable.

"Hold!" Montaron snarled, tapping another spot on the bridge with the pommel of his sword and setting off another foot-trap. Then another. "Clear, I think!" he shouted and Khalid hurdled over him and charged the far side of the bridge.

Two more burning arrows arched through the darkness before Khalid could reach the tunnel beyond. One bounced off his shield but the other slipped past and hit him with enough force to twist his body. He howled in pain, bending over and gripping at the burning object that had sunk into his shoulder.

In answer to the flaming arrows a bolt of ethereal light arched through the cavern and struck one of the archers before it could duck back into cover. The small scaly creature yelped and sank to its knees. Ashura rushed towards the kobold but one of Imoen's arrows found its chest before her sword could. She didn't slow, seeking the second archer. It had broken cover and was hopping away now.

The familiar creak of a bow from somewhere down the tunnel forced Ashura to drop her pursuit and duck against the cave wall. An arrow whistled past her. A second clattered against the stone nearby a heartbeat later. She peaked around the bit of stone that was providing her some cover and saw the glow of three scaly little bodies, all retreating down the tunnel now.

A glance back and she saw that Khalid had ripped the burning arrow out and tossed it away. Jaheira was patting the flames out of his cloak.

Ashura crept backwards a few paces and hissed over her shoulder: "They retreated. At least a bit up the corridor."

Jaheira was chanting a healing prayer now, her hand softly glowing as she held onto Khalid's shoulder. Luckily his gauntlets had kept his hand from getting burned. As soon as the half-elf had caught his breath and risen to his feet they silently fell back into formation and pressed on.

The glowing footprints of the three kobolds led them on and on down a winding path. The creatures seemed to have never slowed. Even when they came to a wider chamber and braced for another ambush the three sets of prints went straight across to an adjoining tunnel. They had to slow their pursuit when Imoen and Montaron spotted something just ahead of the cavern entrance. It turned out to be three separate and carefully disguised sets of tripwire. And several pressure-plates. And some gauss-thin string at various points in the tunnel entrance that released rows of spikes when pulled.

"Sheesh," Imoen muttered. "How many traps can they fit in one spot?"

"It's not so bad," Montaron said with a shrug. "At least we haven't seen any runes in the floor. Bloody magic traps are the worst."

"How do you even disarm those?"

"Pinch of some alchemical powder on the rune," the halfling said, lifting a pouch from his belt and giving the girl a smile. "Ye'd best buy some next time you're in town if you want a true and proper spelunkin' and thievin' kit. Or learn the formula. Something about salt and lead and something else. It's easy enough, but the worst thing 'bout magic traps is that they're set by wizards. Means some spell-slinger could be round the corner."

Imoen nodded. "This passage seems like it was rather important to 'em."

"Aye," Montaron said, trudging forward once they'd made sure the last trap was disarmed. "Means we're on the right track. Whatever hole these yippers live in's up ahead."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm not sure if there actually is a low level spell in third edition D&D that raises undead creatures of goblin size or smaller, but if there isn't one there should be. Low level necromancers should at least be able to pester their enemies with reanimated rats and whatnot.


	7. Chapter 7 - Knives in the Dark

**7 – Knives in the Dark**

_"Dividing loot may seem like an afterthought, but it can actually be the most dangerous phase of any adventure." _–Ribald Barterman, _Old Ribald's Guide to Dungeoneering_

* * *

Ever since they had crossed the trapped bridge the sound of rushing water that echoed off the walls had never ceased. It was actually growing louder and louder now. At first Ashura figured it was a trick of acoustics but as they rounded a bend in the tunnel they came upon the source of the noise: a vast cavern dominated by an underground river. The stream must have merely been a tributary.

The river flowed beneath a series of ledges that clung to the walls of the cave. From the ledge that their tunnel emptied out on there was a natural stone path that led to a large island in the middle of the river. The island itself was dominated by a massive pillar that was rounded at the bottom and the size of a lord's manor. There was a small rectangular doorway leading into the pillar that appeared to be manmade. A cave within a cave. Torches were mounted all along the pillar and above the doorway, reinforcing the impression that it was being used as some sort of home.

They took all of this in within the space of two breaths before burning arrows started streaking across the river and the party was forced to retreat back into the tunnel. As soon as the volley ended Imoen and Jaheira rushed out from cover and sent an arrow and a stone flying over the bridge.

"Better be the last bloody bridge," Ashura muttered. She was so tired of being harried endlessly by these little lizards through the dark; ambush after ambush.

It went on like that a few more moments; ducking out and exchanging fire with the kobolds across the rushing water in a loose sort of rhythm. There was a satisfying yip followed by a splash on the third round. Another on the fourth.

Jaheira cried out in pain when an arrow bit into her bicep as she raised her arm to fling another stone, but there was a yelp from the other side as Imoen shot the offending lizard. At least the arrow that struck Jaheira wasn't flaming.

After that Imoen knocked her bow and asked Ashura to check for more kobolds with "that heat-vision stuff." She crawled beside Imoen and peered around the corner. There was no movement and the only glow came from a prone body with an arrow protruding from its chest.

"Wew," Imoen said. "Maybe they're finally running out of kobolds."

Khalid helped his wife bite down on a strap of leather as she ripped the arrow from her arm. It took the druidess a moment to gather her composure and speak the words of a healing prayer while she gripped her wound. It took her a lot less time to rise to her feet and lift her sling, ready for battle once again.

They watched the island for a time but there was no movement. Falling into formation once again the group carefully approached and then crossed the bridge. No traps so far. With their weapons at the ready they stepped through the chiseled archway.

After passing through the entranceway there was a sharp bend and then: a wide chamber lit by candlelight and floored with silk Calishite carpets, of all things. Violet curtains hung at the entrance to the chamber like the flaps of a traveling pasha's tent and nests of blue and red pillows laid around several short mahogany tables. A large hookah sat on one of those tables and brass braziers hung from the ceiling, filling the room with the smell of cloves and incense.

At the far end of the chamber on a raised wooden dais sat a cushion-lined throne of iron. On the throne lounged a humanoid figure in a purple coat of silk-over-chainmail. He appeared to be a grey orc (or perhaps an orc-blooded human. Ashura had no idea how to tell the difference,) with a flat face, porcine nose, pointed ears and the faint hint of tusks at his lower lip. He regarded his guests with narrow, amber eyes.

"Tazok sent you didn't he?" the orc growled, shifting on his throne.

"Uh," Ashura was all Ashura could think to say in response.

The orc rose to his feet. The black sun and half-skull symbol of Cyric was clear on the front of his tabard. He paced on the dais as he spoke. "If you think you can control the little lizards better than I you're mistaken. I held them in check for months! See how you handle a hoard of these things, always arguing, begging for fresh sources of meat, breeding like rats." He paused.

"Um," Imoen said. "Yeah. Well, Tazok says-"

"Oh, I get it," the orc interrupted. "You're not here to just take the reins. Assassins! Here to clean up this whole operation. Make it disappear." His voice was rising now, his rage growing. "Well, I'm not disappearing!" His hand clenched into a fist that crackled with an orange glow. Suddenly there was motion all about as kobolds armed with knives or swords burst from behind several curtains. The hastily parted silk revealed several side-passages. Behind the reptiles taller figures stalked forward; walking humanoid skeletons that appeared to be stitched together by magic, four in total. The walking bones carried maces or swords.

Ashura ignored the rushing ambush and charged the orc directly, crossing the carpet in the space of a breath.

Shields were braced and steel raised protectively; the rest of the party closing in together in a peloton. The wave of kobolds hit them from either side. Jaheira and Khalid managing to interpose their shields and take the brunt of it.

Reaching the orc and hopping onto the dais Ashura slashed at his stomach while the energy gathering at his fist erupted and flew over her head. Her sword bounced away before it even touched his coat, ringing against some sort of unseen barrier. She turned and stabbed with her left-hand blade but the orc had hefted his mace from his belt by then. He swatted her sword aside and then with dazzling speed he reversed the swing, striking the side of Ashura's head with a backhanded blow. Her helmet rang and she stumbled backwards down the wooden steps.

The orc hefted a kite-shield and pressed Ashura further, stomping forward as her swords were turned aside by mace and shield again and again. One slash got through his guard only to be deflected by the invisible barrier once more.

In her peripheral vision Ashura could see the rest of the melee a few paces away. Imoen and Montaron seemed almost buried under the kobolds that had rushed them, grappling in a writhing mass of twisting tails and awkwardly pointed blades. Jaheira was on her feet trying to fend off two of the skeletons at once. The other two walking dead were bound by shimmering ethereal vines that were probably the druidess' doing. Xzar had backed away into the tunnel but his hands were high over his head and swirling in the gestures of a spell.

In the eye of the storm stood Khalid. He was swaying like a punch-drunk brawler and his eyes were glazed and far away. A faint nimbus of orange energy hung about him.

No help forthcoming. _Damn_.

Another swing of the mace caught Ashura on the elbow and her left-hand sword went flying, numbness spreading through her forearm. The orc followed up by pressing in close and bashing full-bodied with his shield. Ashura had to stumble back and dance a bit to retain her footing.

An underhanded swing from the mace was aimed at her stomach but she managed to awkwardly block and catch the rod of the mace with her sword-hilt. The momentum of that desperate parry forced her to lean forward slightly, and she was caught by another bash from the orc's shield, full in the face this time. It was enough to send her feet flying out from under her and she plummeted to the carpet.

Over the ringing in her head Ashura could hear the high pitched shrieks of kobolds and the thump of their little feet against the rugs. The orc's silhouette blotted out the light of an overhead lamp as he loomed above her and raised his mace. Before he could swing several kobolds ran over and past Ashura's prone body, some jostling the orc before scampering by. The little creatures went shrieking all the way.

The orc paused, looking around the battlefield and snarling at his panicked troops. As he did Ashura took a desperate breath and then tried to push herself to her feet. The orc's eyes returned to her before she could get up and he brought his mace down. Ashura had braced herself enough to roll aside on the carpet, and as she did she flung her right-hand sword up to meet the orc.

The mace hit the rug with a muffled thunk and the blade struck the orc in the face. There was resistance from the magical barrier but this time it wasn't enough to fully arrest the motion of the sword.

The orc reeled back as a gash opened across his cheek and nose. His shield-hand pressed to the wound, blood welling up around his fingers.

On her feet now Ashura pressed in. She stabbed while the shield was out of the way and her blade sank through coat and chain and flesh. With a grunt and a grip on the orc's shoulder she pressed the sword deeper into his belly. He lost his grip on his mace and it fell to the floor.

Ashura twisted her weapon a bit and the orc let out a deafening howl of pain, lips close to her ear. His breath had the cloyingly sweet smell of cloves.

Throughout the duel with the orc she had heard the dying shrieks of kobolds, and now beyond the frantic breaths of her foe the room was silent. With a rough yank she pulled her sword from the orc's abdomen and took a step back. He sank to his knees, both hands pressing to the wound. Tears of pain shimmered at the rims of his eyes.

"Mercy, please!" he managed to stammer out. "I beg you! I yield! I-"

Ashura raised her blood-drenched sword to deliverer a killing blow.

A hand gripped her wrist and Khalid's voice rang out, not stammering for once, "No! Wait!"

She turned and glared at him. Khalid had apparently recovered from the spell that had put him in a stupor, and his sword was dripping with blood. Behind him Jaheira was leaning over Imoen and applying healing magic to the redhead's prone form. Jaheira's nose looked bent, her upper lip streaked blood. Montaron stood nearby, casually cleaning his sword and apparently uninjured. _Of course he would be uninjured_. Xzar stood far back, arms calmly crossed over his chest.

"He may have information," Khalid pointed out. "He might tell us who's behind this and why."

Ashura nodded slightly and relaxed her muscles. Khalid let go of her arm, lifting his own sword and pointing it at the orc's throat.

The orc was panting hard. Between gasps he managed to rasp out the words: "I…I'll cooperate. Whatever you need to know. Whatever you want."

"Indeed you will," Jaheira snarled as she left Imoen's side and stomped towards the orc. "And by the Oakfather's power, if I see any sign of lying or treachery I'll call a swarm of fire ants to worry that wound of yours from the inside."

Shaking his head about pitifully the orc stammered, "N-no need. I promise. No trickery w-will…_arise_!"

Carpets and pillows were flung aside in an eruption of motion. There were dust clouds everywhere along with dry, cracking sounds. Ashura tried to lunge at the orc but her wrists were caught by sharp, talon-like hands that yanked her back with unnatural strength. There were hands on her ankles now and clawing finger bones dug into her flesh.

_More reanimated skeletons_, Ashura realized. The piles of bones had been hidden all over the room beneath tables, tapestries and pillows. At the orc's command they had lurched up, assembled and attacked all in one horribly swift motion.

Jaheira kicked and flailed as two skeletons grappled with her and dragged her down to the floor. A third undead creature fished a kobold's dagger from the carpet and lurched over her, stabbing down. Khalid had managed to beat the undead creature that grabbed at him back with his shield and now he rushed in to assist his wife. The dagger-wielding skeleton got a third stab in before Khalid's sword flashed forward and ribs shattered. The blow nearly cut the thing in half.

Swiveling her head back towards the orc Ashura saw that he had backed up and pressed his hand to his stomach. The familiar glow of a healing spell radiated from the wound. Ashura redoubled her efforts to break away from the skeletal arms that held her back. She tugged and twisted, constantly switching between arms.

As the pain left his face the orc raised his bloodstained hand, palm pointed at Ashura. "By the Black Sun," he began to intone as amber energy sparked to life across his hand. His next words were slow and deliberate, each syllable chanted louder than the next. "I…"

There was a satisfying crack as Ashura ripped a skeletal arm from its socket.

"…command…"

The second arm snapped as Ashura yanked and punched at it simultaneously. She swung her sword down now, chopping at the radius bones of the arms that gripped her ankles.

"…that…you…"

A second chop and the bones splintered, freeing one leg. She kicked forward and the other arm at her ankle was pulled loose. Dragging it along the floor she stomped towards the orc as his voice swelled to a crescendo and the energy burned like a tiny star in his hand.

"…be- _Gak_!" His incantation turned into a breathless gasp. His head pitched forward and he lost control of his legs, flopping towards the carpet. The mass of energy at his hand burst into a shower of sparks and vanished.

Behind the broad form of the orc crouched Imoen, her hand gripping a long, bloody dagger. Ashura rushed forward and rammed her sword through the back of the orc's head and into the rug below. There were spasms for a moment and then that was that.

Glancing back Ashura saw that her companions were still frantically struggling with the skeletons. _Damn_. She had hoped killing the priest would bring them down as well. She placed her foot on the orc's head and yanked her sword free with a grunt, then turned to join the battle.

On the other side of the room Xzar was screaming, "Mommy! Get it off!" A skeleton was clawing at him with its fingertips while he gripped its wrists. Ashura rushed across the carpet, dodging past Khalid as he traded blows with a sword-wielding undead. She leaned in low and slashed at the skeleton that was wrestling with Xzar. Her sword cleanly severed the creature's spine just below the ribcage and it crumbled into is component pieces.

Xzar hopped to his feet and gingerly tossed away the bones that he found himself holding. "Thank you mommy," he told Ashura with a gleam in his eye. The necromancer then patted his hands together and started chanting a spell. A flickering ball of ghost-fire grew and danced between his hands. With the last word (something that sounded like "mortemtus,") the ball went flying into the midst of the undead creatures. There was a hiss that swiftly turned into a piercing shriek and then all of the animated bones locked into place, stone-still.

There was a pause as they all gasped for breath, glancing around. Xzar let out a dramatic cough and they went to hacking and bashing at the skeletons. In the space of a few breaths the frozen creatures were shattered, the magic that held them faltering and the bones scattering across the floor.

As the bones settled everyone but Xzar bent over or sank to the carpet, exhausted and desperate for breath. Once Ashura's lungs stopped burning and she could manage the words she looked over at Imoen, who shared one of the large silk cushions with Montaron. "You okay Ims?" she asked. "Was…_huff_…worried when I saw you on the ground."

Imoen nodded. "I'm fine. But…" her head tilted towards Jaheira, who lay on the carpet curled in a fetal position as Khalid held her steady. There was a lot of blood, though it was hard to tell the exact source. It was obvious the skeleton with the knife had done some damage.

"I'm…I have no more healing prayers," Jaheira managed to say through raspy breaths.

Ashura glanced briefly at the others then rose and walked over to the half-elven woman. She pulled a healing potion –her last – from her belt. Unstopping the cork she carefully pressed the bottle to Jaheira's lips.

Once she had downed the potion Jaheira murmured a weak "Thank you," and tried to rise to her feet. She winced a bit and wobbled back down to the carpet. At least she was breathing a little easier now.

After a few more deep breaths they took stock. Imoen looked a mess, her leathers torn in half-a-dozen places and her face splattered with blood, dirt and darker things, but she insisted that she was whole. Ashura ached intensely and no doubt there were bruises welling up everywhere under her armor, but nothing seemed broken.

There was a nasty gash on Khalid's side. Apparently the wound had been what woke him from the trance the priest had put him under. There seemed to be no healing potions left, so for now they stitched his wound with a bit of gut-string and bandaged it.

By then Jaheira had managed to stand again and they began to carefully search the room. The dead orc had several rings on his fingers; some that would fetch a good price and one with markings that hinted at magical properties. They also found a square medallion under his coat marked with the holy symbol of Cyric. Khalid claimed that the symbol would work well as proof of what they had done when they returned to Nashkel.

The orc's boots also seemed to have some sort of enchantment, and Jaheira slipped them into her pack for safekeeping. Ashura contemplated replacing her lost chainmail tunic with the orc's armored coat but it was far too large for her. The sleeves would go well past her hands.

More interestingly the orc kept a keychain at his belt, and they soon found a large storage chest tucked away beside the dais. One of the keys easily fit, and inside was a substantial pile of assorted coins along with a few jewels and three swords. Two of the blades were short, gladius-style weapons of matching designed and marked with draconic script along the flats of the blades; a good sign the weapons were enchanted.

Ashura hefted the two short swords, testing their weight and balance.

"Uh uh," Montaron chided her."I use swords o' the shorter variety too, and we're splitin' the treasure even-like."

"Isn't your sword already en-" Ashura began.

"We're splitin' the treasure even-like!" Montaron barked.

"Okay, okay," Ashura conceded and offered him the hilt of one of the weapons. She had seen runes on his sword and dagger and had never seen him fight with two weapons at once, but she didn't want to start anything.

Snatching the sword with a grin Montaron said: "Nothin' quite like pillaging is there? Always my favorite part."

The third weapon in the chest was a longer sword with the sort of frilly, unnecessary curves typical of elven weapons. At the pommel the symbol of a crescent moon was prominently displayed. When Ashura reached out and tried to touch the hilt there was a tingle in her fingertips followed by a sharp electric sting. She yelped and jumped back. Montaron and Imoen both tried to pull the weapon out but came away with smarting fingers as well.

"You needn't bother," Jaheira said as she approached the chest, her voice still a bit low and hoarse. "That's a moonblade. Attuned to a specific elven wielder and no one else."

"Bloody obnoxious thing to surround with treasure," Montaron remarked. "How did the orc even get it in there?"

Picking up one of the smaller silk cushions strewn about the room Jaheira used it to awkwardly grip the hilt and pull the sword free from the bed of coins. The weapon buzzed a bit and sparks jumped before she dropped it on the floor. "Very carefully," she said with a slight smile. "He probably thought this was just some curse he could remove before selling the weapon." With the moonblade out of the way they divvied up the rest of the coins and jewels before continuing to search the chamber.

One side-passage simply led to a small privy, and another held the same sorts of hide beds they had seen at the kobold camp and little else. The third tunnel wound around a few bends and then opened up into a huge natural cavern with a gradually down-sloping floor. The room was much larger than the orc's pleasure-nest.

Stalactites and stalagmites lined the floor and ceiling and at the center of the chamber stood a thick natural pillar. The drip of water echoed through the cavern, the floor a bit soft and silty. There were no tapestries or cushions here but in a relatively clean section of the room a line of tables, benches and storage boxes sat on a long rug of woven grass.

As they entered movement drew their eyes to the center of the room where a figure slumped. It was an elven man who hung from manacles that bound his wrists to the central pillar. He was naked and looked emaciated, even for one of his slender race. Half-healed scars and streaks of blood covered his chest and thighs (Ashura guessed they were lash-marks,) and long, tangled nut-brown hair obscured his face.

The elf raised his head weakly as the party's footsteps lightly crunched on the sandy floor of the cavern. Ashura could see a heavy-lidded eye gleam between dirty locks of hair as he watched her approach. "He must be one of the elves the guards were talking about," she stated. Turning to Imoen she asked "They were from uh…Everska right?"

Imoen nodded. They were standing in front of the prisoner now. "Uh huh." To the elf she asked: "Are you from Everska?"

The man opened his mouth but only a raspy gasp emerged.

"F-for Torm's sake!" Khalid exclaimed as he pushed past the two girls. He had a waterskin in hand and carefully pressed it to the elf's lips. "H-he's had enough o-of interrogations!" The elf drank greedily.

"Ack!" Imoen said. "Sorry. Sorry." She pulled the keychain out of her pocket and began fumbling with it. She had to stand on her tip-toes to reach the lock on the manacles and it took a few tries before she found the right key.

Ashura smiled slightly. Of course Imoen would have snatched the keychain.

When the elf slid down Khalid easily caught him, wrapping his own cloak around the other man's shoulders.

After a few more gulps of water the elven man managed to speak. "I thank you," his voice was a bit raw. He pushed his hair back behind tall, pointed ears to reveal a handsome if haggard face. Khalid helped him walk to a bench and he gave a thankful wince as he sat down. "I am indeed from Everska," he said after a long pause. His voice was somber and nasal.

"The other?" Jaheira asked as if she already knew the answer.

"My partner fell to the kobolds and they took me alive." He looked up and gave Jaheira a long, measured look. "We are Greycloaks. I think you know of us. My name is Xanisteirial Feilien, tasked with finding the source of the tainted iron. In a way I suppose my mission was successful." He winced again.

"I'm afraid I've spent all of my healing magic today," Jaheira apologized.

"No matter," Xanisteirial said. "Mulahey healed me several times. To prolong his…fun. He was less generous with food and water."

"Mulahey?" Imoen asked.

"The orcish priest of Cyric," Xanisteirial said. "I assumed it was his cries of pain I heard a little while ago along with all the other racket. Most satisfying."

"Yeah, we killed him," Ashura said.

"Good," Xanisteirial said, exhausted eyes staring at the floor. He was quiet for a time and Ashura wondered if he was about to pass out, but then he shook himself and began to speak again. "I assume you were here for the same reason as I?" the elf asked.

They nodded.

"Good," Xanisteirial continued, "Because I've learned quite a bit about the iron crisis." He tapped a fingertip against one of his pointed ears. "These pick up a lot more than most would think. Several times I've overheard Mulahey talk with someone who was definitely not a kobold. A human I would guess, named Tranzig. No doubt you've heard of the increasing number of bandit attacks up and down the Trade Way?"

Imoen piped up, "We've seen 'em first hand. Nasty lot those bandits."

The elf nodded. "People think they're just taking advantage of the rising price of iron, but if I heard correctly the bandits are actually highly organized. All under some sort of bandit king named Tazok. Mulahey and Tranzig spoke of him often."

"So this Tazok is our true quarry," Jaheira said. "Though his motives remain unclear."

Xanisteirial nodded. "They seem to be trying to drive the price of iron up by destroying what comes from the mine and seizing untainted iron from trade caravans. I have no idea where the plan goes from there." He shrugged and after a pause he added: "The last meeting between Tranzig and Mulahey was very heated. Apparently the orc's superiors were angry that the kobolds had started killing miners and feared he would be discovered soon." He chuckled a bit. "They were correct I suppose. Tranzig seemed intent on reminding the orc that if he were captured he was to claim he was working for the Zhentarim."

Jaheira nodded. "The tavern rumors say that captured bandits are claiming to be working for the Zhents as well. Whoever is behind this seems intent on framing them for this plot."

"Aye," Xzar said in a strangely solemn tone. "Tis a sad and oft repeated tale. Every evil plot gets laid at the Zhentarim's feet simply because it's what people expect." The necromancer was standing at one of the worktables and carefully brushing his fingers along its contents. Jars and bottles of various alchemical components lined the back of the table while piles of carefully arranged powders and a fine set of brass scales sat at the front. Beside the scales lay piles of parchment.

"The Night Masks," Xzar continued, "the Fire Knives, Red Wizards of Thay, the Cult of the Dragon, Shadow Thieves, agents of the Twisted Rune, the elven supremacists of the Eldreth Veluuthra, rogue Harpers, Sharan cultists…why suspect any of them when you can just blame the Zhentarim?"

"Indeed," Jaheira coldly stated as she stepped in beside Xzar.

Xzar ignored her and bent down over the table, leafing through some papers. He stopped and read one for a while longer than most, smiling. "Ah- hey!" he shouted as Jaheira immediately snatched away the promising leaf. He gave her a hurt look. "But that was the formula!"

"Exactly," Jaheira said, folding the parchment up and stuffing it under her belt. "The formula for the iron-rot mixture. And I'll be keeping it, Zhent."

"Hey now," Xzar protested, "Just because I expressed some-"

"Stuff it!" Jaheira snarled. Khalid was beside her now, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword and his eyes trained on Montaron. The halfling calmly sat at a bench and just grinned back, his hands on his knees. "I've suspected a while," Jaheira continued, "but so far our missions have not been at cross purposes. Shall we keep it that way?"

Xzar waved a placating hand. "Of course. You are fully correct that our mission is to stop the iron crisis. That formula just seemed like a valuable find."

"A dangerous find more like it."

Xzar shrugged and turned back to examining the table. Keeping a cautious distance after that they continued to search the room. In addition to the formula that had caused the contention there were several letters in Mulahey's papers. Looking through the correspondence the only names that appeared were Mulahey, Tranzig and Tazok, discussing things in much the way Xanisteirial had described. Besides that there was little beyond a few notes on kobold lore. Apparently the little lizards really loved dragons and had twenty words for slightly different kinds of tunnels.

In one of the wooden boxes beneath the tables they found some clothes that were apparently the elf's: fine silk and linen garments mostly dyed purple and lined with gold threading. It wasn't quite a smile but a slight look of satisfaction crossed Xanisteirial's eyes as he lifted and carefully arranged the set of trousers, robe and cloak. There was also a lightly bejeweled belt, a jeweled circlet and purple boots. "Glad the orc never got an opportunity to sell these," he said with a little relief.

As he shrugged off the cloak and stepped into the trousers he paused and turned towards Imoen, who was standing close by and staring at his lower half intently. "Um?" the elf asked. "Can I help you?"

Imoen's eyes never lifted from their focus. "Did the orc uh…cut you there?" she asked. "Maybe once Jaheira can heal again..."

The elf looked confused, looked down and then waved his hand. "No. No, that's just a...tradition in my homeland. When we're young the extra skin gets trimmed off. They say it's more sanitary." He shrugged and at the same time slid into his pants, lacing them tight and seeming very happy to have them on.

"Oh," Imoen said, turning away and blushing slightly. "Sorry Xanis…urm…Xanisterl? Xanisteral?"

Xanisteirial shook his head. "Just call me Xan please." He pulled on the his robe and belted it. "In all honesty I get tired of my people's long-windedness as well."

Once they had finished searching the workroom they went back to Mulahey's quarters. Xan surprised the others by bending down and effortlessly picking up the elven sword. He gave it a testing swing and something like the hint of a smile crossed his face. After more searching turned up nothing they made their way out of the kobold den and back across the subterranean river.

Xan pointed to a passage that ran along a narrow shelf round the cavern. It was wide enough for several people to walk abreast but was also a bit sloped and hung over the river. "I can't be entirely sure," he said as they carefully walked above the rushing water, "but Mulahey and Tranzig talked of what sounded like a backdoor that leads to the surface somewhere in this cavern. It's how Tranzig came and went, through what he called 'The Valley of Tombs.'"

"Tombs or not I'll be happy to see sunlight again," Imoen squeaked.

"Not as happy as I," Xan replied.

As they filed along the ledge Jaheira let out a pained gasp and the group halted. The druidess was holding her side and shuddering. Seeing the eyes on her she waved them away. "Just opened the wound a little," she explained. "I'll be fine in a moment."

"No ye won't," a voice behind Jaheira whispered. At the same time her eyes bulged wide. Jaheira's mouth fell open in shock and pain and a trickle of foamy blood spilled from its corner. With a loud clunk that echoed through the cavern she fell flat on her face. Montaron was standing behind her, the hilt of his dagger protruding from Jaheira's back.

Xzar had begun one of his sing-song incantations as Khalid whirled. Steel sang as the half-elf's sword swung from its sheath. "You Zhent bastard!" he screamed as he charged Montaron. Tendrils of golden energy rose to meet Khalid but he charged through them as if they were mist, the look of pure rage on his face never faltering.

Montaron's smug smile vanished as he realized his partner's spell was having no effect. He drew his sword but wasn't fast enough to block Khalid's lightning-quick slash. In an instant the upper half of Montaron's body was flying through the air as his pelvis and legs fell forward, ropey guys spilling everywhere.

"Monty!" Imoen cried out, mouth agape. She sank to her knees.

Ashura's swords were out but confusion kept her from striking. They were her father's friends but…but…

In a whirl Khalid turned to Xzar and charged. The necromancer had started to cast a spell but let out a shocked gasp as Khalid's bastard-sword plunged into his stomach and out the other side. The ghost-light on Xzar's hands never quite went out and he managed to start up the chant again as the two struggled on the a breath tendrils of crackling blue leapt from Xzar's hands and seemed to slither under Khalid's skin. The half-elf quickly grew pale, his pace pained and cheeks getting unnaturally shallow, but the grip on his sword never faltered.

In their struggles they took one step towards the edge of the ledge. Then another. A heartbeat later both men lost their footing and pitched over the side, plunging into the rushing water below.

"Xzar!" Ashura screamed. Her eyes followed the two writhing silhouettes as they floated beneath the surface. She ran along beside them, bending down. Maybe she could pull him from the water. Maybe if she-

A firm hand caught Ashura's elbow and yanked her back. "Are you mad?" Xan barked, narrow elven eyes glaring into hers. A quizzical look crossed his face. "Of course you are," he said as the look turned to one of realization. "I should have noticed earlier." Xan raised a hand in front of Ashura's face and snapped his fingers. "_Tiras krali vistus_," he intoned.

A fog lifted from Ashura's head that she hadn't realized was there. She blinked several times and then looked at the carnage around her. "He…" she stammered. "They…this whole..?" Xan nodded.

Ashura glanced over at Imoen, who had the same confused look on her face. The look quickly turned to fury as the redhead stood up and kicked Montaron's lifeless lower half a few times. "Nine fucking Hells!" she shouted.

"Xzar had us charmed this whole time!" Ashura growled. "I kept charging into battle ahead of him. 'Guarding his body.' All those creepy little jokes. And he never even mentioned pay! How could I be so stupid?!"

"It's not a matter of stupid," Xan stated calmly. "Enchantments are my specialty. I know of these things."

Ashura whirled around, pointing a sword in the elf's direction. "Don't you even _think_-"

The elf raised empty hands. "I won't. On my honor as a Greycloak I will not cast an enchantment spell in your direction. Either of you. I swear." They stared each other down a moment longer and he added: "Provided you keep those swords away from me, of course."

Ashura continued to glare. After a time she lowered her blade. "Good enough I suppose." She turned back to the rushing water. There was no sign of Khalid or Xzar. Both had apparently been swept down the river and into whatever lay beyond the cavern. "If that bastard crawls out of the river I swear I'll kill him myself."

Shaking her head Ashura walked over to Jaheira and turned her body over. Wide empty eyes stared up at the ceiling. "What a mess," she said with a sigh as she leaned forward and pushed Jaheira's eyes shut. "Sorry daddy," she whispered.

Soon Ashura and Imoen turned to practical matters: searching what remained of their companions. Ashura replaced her remaining mundane sword with the magical weapon Montaron had claimed and found that the little bastard had two healing potions secured in bags at his belt. Imoen took Montaron's enchanted dagger out of Jaheira's back and cleaned it. She also claimed the halfling's kit of what seemed to be poisons and thief's tools.

Bending over Jaheira's body Ashura pondered. "It's got some holes in it," she said as she began to undo the straps of Jaheira's armor, "but it'll fit me better than the orc's chain coat." As it turned out Jaheira's splintmail was about her size. She shrugged out of her studded leather tunic and into the heavier set, Imoen assisting with all the straps.

"I hope it serves you better than she," Xan noted.

Ashura shrugged. "At least till we get back to town."

There was a decent amount of coin in the druidess' bags as well as some gems and nick-knacks. She also carried two potions: some liquid in a transparent bottle that Xan sniffed and claimed was a potion of invisibility and a green potion that cold supposedly cure poison. Imoen happily snatched that potion of invisibility up.

One of the more valuable looking finds was a small jeweled pin that depicted a harp held within a crescent moon. "You do _not_ want to carry or attempt to sell that," Xan warned.

Ashura gave him a curious look.

Xan raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what that is?" he asked.

Imoen and Ashura both shook their heads.

"It's the badge of a Harper. Apparently your friend was one of them."

"Gorion always spoke well of the Harpers," Ashura noted. "I wonder…oh. Of course," she muttered as it all fell into place. It was the Harpers who had sent Gorion, Khalid and Jaheira on all those "missions." She stared at the tiny pin for a moment before shaking her head and tossing it into the river.

Next they tossed Montaron a piece at a time into the water, then carefully rolled Jaheira's body over the ledge. Her long brown hair and torn green tunic billowed out around her as she drifted along the surface in the direction her husband had gone. After a time the body slipped under some low-hanging stone and she disappeared into the darkness.

With their rough little funeral finished the three of them continued along the ledge and down a tunnel at the far end. Ashura wasn't sure but she thought she could see light somewhere ahead.

**End of Part One**


	8. First Interlude - Death's Favored Son

**First Interlude – Death's Favored Son**

* * *

The winds that rolled in off the Sea of Swords were dashing rain against whatever they could, but the east side of the rock stayed dry enough. From time to time there would be a shift in the wind and a few droplets would splatter across the camp, dampening the cloaks and armor of the four companions or hitting their campfire with a hiss. The woman in smooth black platemail never seemed to notice as she sat before the flames. Her eyes were rolled back in her head, empty whites unblinking as the firelight danced in them.

Two other men sat at the fire opposite the woman. One was old, his body hunched and bone-thin. A trimmed, white-streaked beard hung from his sallow face and he wore ragged traveler's robes and a broad hat. The other man was younger, healthier, with Calishite features and long brown hair. His clothing was sturdy but colorful and elegant. Both men warmed their hands close to the fire.

Somewhat away from the shelter of the rock a man in spiked armor paced. He ignored the rain as it pattered against the horned helmet that covered most of his head and face, and each time he turned the massive greatsword at his back clinked against his armor. With every circuit he made at the edge of the camp his eyes briefly fell on the woman.

He glanced at her, turned and impatiently stomped along his path. Then did it again. And again.

Then the woman's eyes rolled forward, the whites replaced by dark brown irises. The man in spiked armor stopped and a slight smile appeared on his face, hidden behind the jawguard of his helmet. "Tamoko, you've returned," he said in greeting. His voice was deep and resonant.

The woman in black armor nodded, her eyes still fixed on the flames. Her face was round, with the almond-shaped eyes and dark hair of an easterner from Kara-Tur or beyond. When she spoke her voice was low and soft. "Kossuth's flames have led us true. Ghostwalker shelters in a cave along the coast to our north. Perhaps four miles travel and deep within a cove."

"Good," said the man in spiked armor as he turned from the campfire. "Then we will overtake him this night. Come." He gestured for his companions to rise and follow.

"I could not mask my presence from him," Tamoko apologized. "He will be preparing for us as we travel."

"That was to be expected," the armored man said dismissively.

The Calishite shot to his feet and smoothed out his cloak, then helped the old man up. With a wave of Tamoko's hand the fire hissed and died and they set out into the rain.

It had taken the combined magics of Tamoko, Winski and Semaj to pierce the layers of protection Ghostwalker used to cloak himself from scrying. Doing so had warned their quarry that he was being hunted, and they had been harried constantly on their journey along the coast by odd weather, enraged animals and supernatural creatures. This final leg of the hunt was relatively quiet though, and they met nothing in the last hours walking the coast beyond rain and wind. No doubt Ghostwalker was saving whatever defenses he had left for when it really counted.

As they approached the cove they found it covered by unnatural mists; a thick wall of pure white that reached from the lapping water to the sky. Winski – the old man in ragged clothes – raised his gnarled hands and carefully enunciated a few arcane words. A silent gust swept in, turning the wall into a series of sputtering whirlwinds and pushing them aside, parting the mist.

As the air cleared nearly a dozen shimmering forms were revealed, their softly glowing bodies rising from the sand. They were barely more substantial than the mists: blue-white ethereal creatures in the shape of wolves. Their fur flowed and shifted like billowing clouds and their eyes were sharp gleaming pinpricks of light. One by one they threw back their heads and howled.

The greatsword slid from its place at the armored man's back and into his hands with practiced ease. He stared the ghostly wolves down as they fanned out, shifting his sword slowly from side to side, and as he did a bright yellow glow began to emanate from his eyes. At either side of the armored man Winski and Semaj began to chant the words of separate spells, palms extending as they lit the night with tongues of lightning and streaking bolts of eldritch energy.

When they were struck by the magical attacks the spirit-wolves yelped just like any other hound. However when they closed and attacked they did so like no natural beast. They seemed to waver and flow, constantly shifting in and out of existence. Paws and bared teeth would rush towards the armored man then turn into a puff of ethereal smoke. A heartbeat later that puff would reform behead him and leap as the wolf tried to flank and bring him down.

The man in spiked armor whirled and moved just as quickly as the wolves could ghost in and out of existence, his sword a blur. Sharp as their supernatural teeth were they could not dent his armor. Heavy as their bodies became when they materialized and collided with their prey the man never lost his footing. He shrugged the shaggy bodies off, sending some back with wounds from his jagged armor.

His sword mostly struck empty air as it sliced at the ghosting wolves, but here and there the blade would hit something satisfyingly solid. When struck the beasts bled a white glowing substance that rose into the air and faded rather than spilling out like blood. With enough slices whatever magic held the spirit wolves together would waver and they would evaporate like mist.

Close by Tamoko raised a mace in one hand and a red ball of fire in the other. With a word she lit the night with a pillar of flames that descended from the darkness and struck one of the wolves, dissolving its body with a hiss and a puff.

Tamoko continued to hold her hand aloft as she sang out a second prayer in the tongue of Kozakura. As two more spirit wolves closed in on her flames once again bust into existence, wreathing her body and making the polished surface of her armor shine. A wolf that dared ghost close to her and snap its jaws was rebuked by the fire, shifting away. She advanced on the creature and its companion, pressing them with her mace and the tongues of flame that encircled her.

Moments later there was nothing of the spirit-wolves save dissipating mists. Hoisting his sword the man in spiked armor began to stomp towards the nearby cave that had been at the heart of the fog, the others falling in behind him. The glow had faded some from his eyes, revealing black war paint. The opening was narrow and carved into an eroded wall of sandstone. Tall sea oats waved along the ridge above.

In the sand at the mouth of the cave were several sets of footprints, all leading out and away. Two sets were more or less the size of a humanoid adult, and the rest – perhaps three others – were quite small. _Ghostwalker's wife and children_, the armored man guessed._ That could be a problem later, if they are allowed to grow and seek revenge_. But that was at the bottom of his concerns tonight. Bending a bit the armored man shrugged his way into the sea cave.

The chamber inside was round and wide, sloping to a central point where a large fire danced. Furs were laid out everywhere, along with clay pots and painted pieces of wood and gourd and bone. The smell of smoke hit the armored man's nostrils as he slowly stepped forward. It was thick and rich: burning wood mixed with cherry bark and the stronger smell of various herbs. Trails of white smoke rose and swirled from the flames to form shifting patterns that could not have been random.

Before the fire sat a broad, muscular figure, his back turned. His voice was deep but dry and raspy. As he spoke trails of smoke rose from his lips to join the whirling patterns above. "Young Lord Anchev," he said by way of greeting.

"You insult me, Ghostwalker," the armored man said coldly. "You of all people should know the true name of my father. Of _our _father."

"We are all formed by where we grew as much by the blood," Ghostwalker said. "Just as the Shattered Bone Clan made me what I am the Anchev clan made you. And I believe I am entitled to insult the man who has come here to murder me this night, am I not?" Ghostwalker asked that question mockingly as he rose to his feet and turned to reveal the flat face of a youthful orc framed by long, dreadlocked hair. His chest was bare, his loins covered by an assortment of cured hides woven together into a skirt. There was a strip with the pattern of a cheetah, another with the fur of a bear. Others had the texture and hue of humanoid flesh. As he spoke the whirling patterns of smoke had expanded above Ghostwalker's head. Bodies seemed to dance in the mist. Faces turned and spoke and screamed.

The armored man's companions had spread out, a bit behind him and near the cave wall. Their hands were out and ready to begin flinging magic.

"I do what must be done," the armored man stated coldly as he raised his sword to a ready position.

The orc shook his head. "You study some moldy books and think you know how this must play out."

"Alaundo's prophesy-"

"You studied some moldy books," Ghostwalker interrupted, his voice rising, "while I have stared into the ether just as Alaundo did. And I know that your quest is futile."

"Ha. If you really can do that by looking into flames and inhaling burning resins then surely you saw your own death. Here. Tonight."

The statement was meant to be baiting, but Ghostwalker answered without hesitation. "I did. I saw my death and thus I will not ask you to stay your hand. I saw my own death and I saw many deaths beyond that. Death on a titanic scale, leading to the final struggle for our father's throne."

"It is just as I-"

"It is and it is not." The smoky images had grown more sharp and resolved. In it the armored man could see an otherworldly vista made of writhing forms melted together to form strange statues. Some sort of massive structure rose from the twisted landscape, and atop it figures struggled. Ghostwalker inclined his head slightly, also watching the misty scene unfold. "Do you see it? A cosmic battle atop the Throne, years from now. There are many combatants but only three appear clearly, illuminated by our father's power." It appeared as he said: there were three forms that seemed truly solid while the rest were vague and ghostly. "You see them too don't you? Three women."

"All I see is smoke."

With a shimmer a long spear appeared in Ghostwalker's hands. It was oaken and tipped with obsidian, marked by swirling patterns of glowing red and green. Winski and Semaj aimed their fingers, spells ready on their lips. "See what you like," Ghostwalker said. "I have tried but I cannot see beyond this point to who wins the battle atop the Throne. Regardless it's clear that it will end with the ascension of a Lady of Murder. We are irrelevant."

The armored man shook his head slightly. "You of all people should know the mutability of fate. Especially for those such as us."

"Then test that mutability. We all have our parts to play this night. _Zrrak kurm!_" With that guttural bark there was a sound like the ripping of grass and long, tall lines of thorn-bearing plants wavered into being between the armored man and his companions. There was a crackling sound as the three others flung their spells against the wall of thorns.

Ghostwalker twirled his spear and grinned at the man in spiked armor. In response the man raised his sword and the intense glow returned to his eyes and spilled out from the maw of his helmet, burning like the fires of Gehenna.

The smoky vista continued to hang in the air behind Ghostwalker, the scene from across time and space and possibility playing out. The man in spiked armor averted his eyes, focusing only on the duel before him. But before he pushed all else from his mind and leapt forward to attack an uneasy feeling came over him.

The feeling that he recognized one of the faces in the smoke.


	9. Chapter 8 - The Last Frayed Nerve

**Part Two – Making a Living or Making a Killing?**

**8 – The Last Frayed Nerve**

_"Swords! Not words!" –_Minsc

* * *

Mirtul 10, 1368 D.R.

From the narrow mouth of a cavern at the center of the Valley of Tombs three ragged figures emerged. They covered their faces at first, wincing away from the bright glare of the midday sun. Two of the figures were women – girls really – in their late teens, maybe close to twenty. One of the women was a half-head taller than the other, with long black hair that had spilled out of a once neat ponytail quite some time ago. That hair was now greasy and clumped in places with dried blood, and bloody grime streaked her pale face beneath narrow, ice-blue eyes. She wore stained splintmail armor that was nicked in over a dozen places.

The shorter woman had copper-red hair that had once been straight and shoulder-length but was currently a tangled mess. Her face was also smeared with blood and muck and she wore black leathers and a torn purple-and-black-trimmed cloak.

The third figure was male, with the sharp, angular features of a moon elf. He wore relatively clean, high collared purple robes that hung awkwardly on his emaciated frame. His brown eyes were sunken, dark underneath and red rimmed. At his brow a gold and amethyst circlet held back his long brown hair, and at his belt hung a longsword with an ornate moonstone pommel.

As the sun washed over his face the elf closed his eyes and turned his head upwards, soaking up the light. After a time he spoke. "Ah, I thought I'd be trapped in that dismal vault for the rest of my life." He inclined his head towards the two young women. "I thank you again."

The girl with the black hair – Ashura – was leaning against the wall of the cave. "Sure," she said with a shrug. After a pause she added: "Could have gone better on our end."

Xan shook his head. "You cheated death, and that's all that counts. Each and every day. We even seem to have completed our missions in a roundabout way."

"I suppose we should report to Berrun?" Ashura asked. She held a vial of the liquid the kobolds had been using to taint the iron up to the light. "Show him this?"

"Indeed," Xan said with a nod as he surveyed the landscape. The soil was dry and sandy here, specked with golden scrub grass and a few cacti. "Judging from the conversations between Mulahey and Tranzig this valley is somewhere at the northern edge of the Cloudpeaks, east of Nashkel. North then west should take us back. Eventually."

They began to march through the dusty valley and soon found themselves on a path that sloped up and up. "You have any spells ready?" Imoen asked Xan. "Just in case?"

He frowned. "I do. There were a few spells I was not able to attempt on the orc since he kept my hands bound. But as I told you my specialty is magic of the mind. That does little good against things that crawl out of…tombs."

"We'd best be leaving quickly then," Ashura said.

The path out of the valley was clear, but it quickly turned from an uphill march to a climb over sandstone boulders and slopes of jagged rock. Sweat began to wash the bloodstains from Ashura's face as the high mid-Mirtul sun beat down and she crawled and clambered her way up. When they reached a stony plateau above the valley they stopped a moment to rest and reclaim their breath.

Ashura was bent over and panting a bit when she heard a shocked gasp. _Imoen_. She stood and whirled around to see what was wrong with her friend. There was a woman wearing a hooded cloak and boiled leathers standing behind the redhead. She carried a bow, the string pulled and an arrow knocked and aimed at Imoen's back.

Her hands were at her sword hilts but Ashura found herself letting out a weary sigh. Of course they'd be ambushed by bandits as soon as they left the caves. Was nowhere on this whole bloody planet safe?

There was a cough from a nearby boulder and a second woman in leathers stepped into view. She held a small throwing knife in a ready position, her eyes fixed on Xan. There was a second knife in her other hand. Something green and faintly luminescent clung to the tip of the knife; a sure sign of magical poison. "Nice and slow," the woman hissed as Xan raised his hands.

Two more women stepped into view from behind boulders further along the plateau. These two were armored more heavily, one with a platemail breastplate and grieves and the other in a long chainmail coat. The surcoats over both sets of armor depicted twisted black antlers on a red, triangular field. The holy symbol of Beshaba.

The priestess in chain approached from the left and the one in plate from the right. The first woman raised her arms in preparation to cast a spell and the second hefted a mace and rested it on her shoulder before she spoke.

"Ashura, I presume." The priestess' voice was deep and mocking. "Rumor was that you traveled with a much larger war-party. I see the Maid of Misfortune has been giving you a lot of attention."

Ashura just glared and Imoen spoke up. "Oh, the others are on their way. Six-"

The priestess in plate shook her head. "Don't bother," she said. "Our augers told us you would be passing through here this afternoon. You can't hide your numbers from one who can see you across time and space."

"Did your augers tell you exactly how I'm going to kill you?" Ashura asked with a low growl.

The priestess ignored the threat. "Now, we just want you Ashura. Surrender and we'll take your head off nice and cleanly and send your friends on their way. Or," she addressed Xan, "you could hand her head over to us. Just-"

There was a waver in the air and Imoen simply vanished. A glass vial fell from the spot she had been standing and shattered on the ground.

The hooded woman with the bow glanced around, snarling. With a thump she fired her knocked arrow through the space where Imoen had been but it bounced harmlessly off stone.

At the same time Ashura charged the priestess in the chainmail coat. Her opponent had her arms in the air now, swirling as she chanted a prayer to bring all manner of misfortune down on Ashura's head. Before the chant was finished Ashura leapt across the last few paces between her and the priestess and drove the bottom of her boot into the woman's abdomen with enough force to send her stumbling backwards. The priestess' arms pinwheeled and the magical energy that had been gathering at her fingertips crackled and went out.

Something bit into Ashura's back and she winced but kept pushing forward. _Almost there_. With a slash of her sword a deep gash appeared across the Beshabin's cheek. Another kick and priestess was flailing wildly and grasping at air as she plummeted backwards off the edge of the plateau. She struck a rock on the way down, bounced, struck another.

Ashura turned back in time to see the archer aiming her bow. There was a gleaming streak along the archer's neck and then a torrent of blood as Imoen wavered back into existence behind the woman. The bow clattered to the ground as the archer frantically gripped at her slit throat, her face going ghostly pale in the space of a few heartbeats as she went down.

Turning from that Ashura launched herself at the priestess in plate armor; the apparent leader of the group. Steel rang out as her sword met the woman's mace. Her next swing was also parried, and the Beshabin easily anticipated the follow-up stab from Ashura's second weapon and dodged it. Something felt wrong about the way she was swinging her swords. The weapons were too heavy, her movements too sluggish.

The wound in her back! It must have been one of those poisoned knives. And the damn thing had struck right at the hole Montaron had put in the armor. Either she had terrible luck or the knife-thrower had impeccable aim.

In her offhand the Beshabin held a growing spiral of orange energy. Another bat from her mace kept Ashura's swords at bay with minimal effort. "Maid of Misfortune…" she began to chant, but as she did something streaked past Ashura and lodged in the gap of the priestess' armor under her arm. The woman snarled in pain and shock and the light in her hand faltered and died. Another streak and then another flew towards the priestess, one of the missiles clattering off her armor and the other slipping through a gap and imbedding itself in the woman's arm at the elbow.

Gripping her injured arm the priestess staggered back, looking down at the weapon that had struck her. A throwing knife. She looked up and glared at her companion. "Zeela? Why?!" she growled. The other woman's hood had fallen back to reveal curly blonde locks and empty, dazed eyes. She stood there, staring at nothing in particular and out of throwing knives. The Beshabin took the empty look for an answer.

The priestess whirled back towards Ashura and swung her mace, wide and drunkenly; easily dodged. Ashura staggered forward and tried to strike back but her sword-arm was just as sloppy and she missed entirely. The two combatants breathlessly glared at each other as their grips on their weapons loosened.

With a frustrated snarl Ashura just dropped her swords and launched her body at the priestess, putting all of her strength and weight into the tackle. Steel screeched against steel as the two armored women crashed to the ground, the helmetless head of the priestess cracking against the rock as she took the force of the fall.

Clinging to her opponent's shoulders and ramming them against the ground Ashura managed to climb up a bit. She straddled her enemy, gripping the blonde woman's neck with both hands and slamming the back of her head against the stone again and again. The priestess grabbed at Ashura's wrists and tried to roll, thrashing and sliding her feet against the ground in frantic kicks. The struggles grew weaker and weaker as Ashura squeezed and bashed with all the strength she had left. They struggled there on the ground for what seemed like an eternity but was probably just a few moments, Ashura's fingers digging into her enemy's throat as the priestess struggled for breath and found none.

The priestess' eyes had long since rolled back in her head and her cheeks gone from bright red to purple when Ashura's limbs gave out and she released her grip, slumping over the still body of the Beshabin. Her hands and feet were numb, tremors wracked her limbs, and however much she tried she couldn't seem to get enough breath.

A wave of nausea ran through Ashura's body and she bent down further over her still opponent and vomited. When she had emptied her guts coughs wracked her until she felt like her stomach was going to turn inside out.

Once the coughing had abated a bit she managed to look up at the battlefield through bleary eyes. The knife-thrower was still standing there between her two still companions, eyes empty and body wobbling a bit like a puppet dangling from strings. Doubtlessly she had gotten a dose of Xan's 'magic of the mind.'

The empty look vanished and the woman's eyes shot wide open with shock when Imoen silently slipped behind her, yanked her amber hair back and slit her throat. The sudden cut was long and deep, and when Imoen dropped her the woman slumped over and bled out as quickly as her companion had.

There was a look of cold savagery in Imoen's eyes that Ashura had never seen before, but it was quickly replaced by sheer exhaustion as the girl looked down, shoulders slumped. Then Ashura's vision fogged up with tears and she bent over, coughing and retching again.

Rushing over to Ashura's side Imoen knelt and pulled the cork out of a bottle. She pressed it to her friend's lips. The liquid tasted awful but once she'd choked a little down the nausea subsided and pins, needles and acute aches returned to Ashura's arms and legs. She drank the rest up greedily and her strength soon returned.

When she tried to stand the motion made her cringe and she realized the knife was still stuck in her back. She slid back down, lying on the earth beside the dead priestess. Somewhere nearby Xan sat down, cross-legged.

"So there's a bounty on your head?" the elf asked.

Ashura turned her head to the side and pressed her face to the ground. It felt good to lie down. "Yeah," she said. "Thanks for not trying to collect." Imoen was sitting close by now.

"Of course," Xan said. "I owe you two. You saved me from a _very_ unpleasant fate, and the least I can do is try to keep you alive, difficult as that seems to be." There was a long pause as they sat there on the plateau. Eventually Xan broke the silence. "Are you going to tell me why there's a bounty on your head? Or just rebuke me for prying?"

Ashura took a breath, chuckled and immediately regretted it as she felt a stab of pain from the knife. "Honestly," she said, "I have no idea. Ever since we left…our home and hit the road we keep bumping into these assassins. They killed my father the first time. Kidded myself into thinking maybe they had just been after him but they've been attacking me ever since."

"I think she's some sort of long-lost princess," Imoen interjected. "She was a foundling you see. Maybe she's the Princess of Tethyr and they keep sending assassins to keep her from reclaiming the throne."

"Do I look like the princess of Tethyr?"

"Well, you've always been kind of pale. Maybe you're the Princess of Icewind Dale?"

"Icewind Dale doesn't have princesses. It's just a bunch of barbarian tribes."

"Ooo-kay. Well, you're Damaran looking. Maybe you're the princess of Bloodstone."

"Bloodstone's something like a million miles away from here."

"Yer no fun!"

"You're a foundling too Imoen. Maybe you're a princess."

Imoen smiled. "Now there's something to think about. What could I be the princess of?"

Ashura had several ideas, all of them very vulgar. But instead she asked: "So Ims? Are we going to do this? The usual routine: You yank the knife out and then I gulp down a healing potion as fast as I can?"

Imoen chuckled. "Figured you were working up the courage." She took a deep breath, reaching out till her hand gently hovered over the hilt of the knife. "You ready?" she asked.

"Never ready," Ashura said as she pulled one of Montaron's healing potions from her belt, unstopped the cork and braced herself for the pain that would come when the knife was ripped out. "But we have to do it anyway."

* * *

It was about an hour after sunrise when the three bedraggled figures finally reached Nashkel. Squat buildings appeared out of the thick mist that rolled off the river, the first sign of civilization they'd seen in some time, and all three sighed with relief. They were worn ragged and close to being asleep on their feet, but the promise of shelter and the desire to finally walk the last leg of their "mission" had driven the three on through the night.

Though exhausted in body they were at least a bit richer. Imoen wore a fresh set of leathers and both she and Ashura carried freshly pilfered and unfrayed cloaks. Upon searching and stripping the corpses of the party of assassins the day before they found that the archer and knife-thrower had been wearing enchanted leather armor. Imoen picked out the lightest set and Ashura carried the heavier studded leathers in her pack, along with every other valuable that she could find a way to comfortably carry.

As they wound down the path from the mountains and began along the Trade Way into Nashkel several Amnish soldiers filed towards the companions, poleaxes at rest on their shoulders. One of the guards –short and female – whispered something to the older looking woman who seemed to be in charge of the unit. Ashura thought she recognized the younger soldier and after a clearer look she realized why: she had been their guide through the mountains days ago.

The older soldier raised her nose and gave the three a narrow, appraising look. "Returning from the mines?" she asked.

Xan stepped forward. "In a roundabout way," he said.

There was a lot of whispering among the soldiers before their leader silenced them with a glare. She turned to the three companions. "I remember you Greycloak. We all thought you were long dead."

"I thought I was as well. It's a long story."

"Well don't leave us in suspense. What did you find?"

Xan took a deep breath. "Exactly what you suspect. The cause of the corroded iron. It is dealt with now."

"Now that's quite the claim."

"On the honor of this Greycloak, it is so."

The soldier tilted her head a bit. "Well, we'd best take you to the boss man right away then. Follow."

They were led to a path that branched off of the Trade Way and past low stone walls. Beyond that they walked by carefully sheered hedges and wide flowerbeds that reminded Ashura of the sprawling gardens of Candlekeep. Past the hedges stood a broad manor house with white brick walls and a well-tarred roof. A pebbled path wound up to the door where the soldier gently knocked.

The door was answered by a dour elderly man who simply shook his head at them. It took an agreement from the disheveled adventurers to remove their boots and be searched before they left the house for the servant to allow them in. The Amnish commander just rolled her eyes.

From there they were led barefoot over fine Calishite carpets and up a staircase, then down a wide hall lined with gilded paintings. The hall eventually came to the master bedroom, where the servant gently knocked and exchanged some words with the occupant before allowing the three to enter. A strong smell of incense hit them as they stepped into the candlelit room, though it was not quite enough to hide the scent of bile and soiled linens. Propped up on the wide four-post bed that dominated the room was a gaunt and ancient man in a white nightgown and cap.

The old man gave a slight nod of greeting and Xan bowed. "Lord Ghastkill," he said. Behind them came footsteps and Berrun Ghastkill entered the room. He quietly walked past them to take a seat in a stuffed chair at the old man's bedside.

"My son," Lord Ghastkill said in a low, raspy voice as he inclined his head towards Berrun, "has told me about the adventurers he's been sending into the mines in search of the corruption. I am pleased to see that you have returned."

"Though you've returned a bit short," Berrun said with a frown. "The Harpers aren't with you. Or the-"

"Zhentarim," Imoen interrupted. "Kinda' wish we had known who they were."

Berrun gave her a confused look. "I assumed you did. The Zhentarim use some rough methods but believe it or not they've helped the people of Amn several times when our interests line up. I thought they'd even work with Harpers in the same circumstances. But I take it from the look you're giving me-"

"Damn right," Imoen said with a bit of a pout. "They worked with 'em just fine right up till they stabbed 'em in the back. Literally."

"Sad but predictable," the elder Ghastkill noted.

"It was right after we found the alchemical recipe for the stuff that makes the iron brittle," Ashura said. "Jaheira took it and I think Xzar wanted it so they had a bit of a falling out. We saw two of them die and the other two were in pretty bad shape when they went down in an underground river."

"Alchemical formula?" Lord Ghastkill asked.

Xan nodded and stepped forward, producing a vial of green liquid. From there he began to tell the story of how the iron was tainted and by whom. When he came to the part about Mulahey Ashura handed the mayor the holy symbol of Cyric they had taken from the orc's body, and he confirmed that the priests of Helm would be able to learn quite a bit about its former owner.

"And that's the how of it," Xan said as he finished the tale. "The 'why' is a bit unclear, and my mission demands that I investigate further. However I do think I can assure you that your ore will no longer be sabotaged. Without the orc leading them the kobolds will probably scatter and the formula for the iron-rot is safely out of their hands regardless."

Berrun nodded slowly. "It's quite a story, but I'll accept the word of a Greycloak. Speaking of which I am sorry for your loss. I'm sure Alithan will be missed."

Xan's eyes were distant as he inclined his head ever so slightly. "Thank you," he said absently.

There was silence for a time, eventually broken by Berrun. "So it seems now that our sabotage problem is solved we have a reward to give out. There's just one outstanding matter." He reached his hand out. "The alchemical recipe?"

Ashura pulled the rolled up bit of parchment from her pack and began to hand it over.

"Uh, people died you know…" Imoen noted as Berrun snatched the parchment up. He ignored her, unrolling the scroll and glancing at it a moment. Rolling it back up the mayor turned and placed the edge of the parchment against the flame of a nearby candle, setting it alight.

"That's a valuable weapon," the old lord stated coldly.

His son shook his head. "Not worth it. Especially not considering the hands it could end up in." There was something pointed and personal about how he put that last phrase.

"Perhaps not," the old lord said with the slightest of shrugs.

Berrun turned back to the two girls and the elf as the scroll burned down. "The reward we were offering for ending the contamination is one thousand danters."

Xan shook his head slightly and waved a hand. "It's all theirs," the Greycloak said. "I was a bound prisoner when they defeated Mulahey."

"Aww," Imoen said. "You've been a big help though! We can split it three ways."

Ashura gave her friend a shocked look.

"It really wouldn't be proper. My organization supplies me well enough and I do this for the good of Everska." After a thoughtful look crossed his face he amended a bit. "Although…I will need supplies to continue my investigation. If you help me stock up for the road along with a little spending money for travel we can call all debts repaid."

"Sure," Imoen said with a bright smile. "It's the least we can do."

Berrun left the room and returned some time later with a hefty bag that was nearly the size of a halfling's head. He sat it in Imoen's hands with a satisfying clink. "Count it up when you please. And be careful not to wave it around in public. Though, if you want to help the town further…" he went on.

"We're a little worn out at the moment," Ashura began but Berrun raised a finger.

"If you want to help the town further you can put some of that coin back into the local economy. We've been delaying the Spring Fair because of the crisis, but now I see no reason not to commence preparations."

"Oh!" Imoen squealed. "Of course we'll go!"

Ashura chuckled. "After a hot bath and a change of clothes at least."

"Of course. The fair won't be up and going for at least half a tenday in any case. For now you're welcome to stay in our guest chambers." He inclined his head. "If that's okay with you father?"

The old lord nodded absently. "Of course. Stay as our guests, and with my blessing. You've done us quite the service."

Imoen smiled and bowed slightly. "Most kind of you, m'lord."

The servants still gave them disdainful looks as they were led to the guest chambers but Ashura didn't care. She felt like she could sleep for days. When she hit the feather bed she very nearly did, sleeping from late morning all the way to the next dawn.

* * *

**Author's Note: **A danter is a gold coin minted in Amn, according to the old Forgotten Realms second edition sourcebook "Lands of Intrigue."


	10. Chapter 9 - Carnival

**9 – Carnival**

_"Would it really be so cruel a fate? To wait the ages out as strong and still as stone?"_ –Deekin Scalesinger, _The Shadow of_ _Undrentide (Edited for spelling and grammar by Grobnar Gnomehands)_

* * *

"Oh! Oh! I wanna ride the unicorn!" Imoen announced, pushing her way through the milling crowd.

"I'm pretty sure that's just a horse with some ivory stuck to its nose," Ashura pointed out. The comment got her a playful slap on the shoulder.

'Pish!" Imoen retorted. "I've read the bestiaries too. You're missing the point!"

Ashura shrugged. "The point is that they put on a good show?"

"No, the point is that I'm a pretty princess who's going to ride a unicorn."

Ashura rolled her eyes.

"Didn't you ever want to be a princess? We were surrounded by so many stories of 'em in Candelkeep. Swept away by gallant princes or returning from exile to reclaim their kingdom and such. And occasionally getting fed to dragons. I guess that's the downside."

Ashura shook her head. "Always preferred a different sort of story. Like the ones with the stoic barbarian who rolls into town and ends up slaying all the asshole sorcerers who get in his way. Maybe at the end he winds up with a naked slave-girl clinging to his ankle while he broods on a throne."

Imoen raised an eyebrow. "You want to be a slave-girl? Now that's a side of you I've never seen."

"Nah. More like I'd like to be on that throne. Maybe replace the slave-girl with a naked slave-boy or two. Hm, and make it a throne of skulls!" She flexed her arm a bit and added an: "Argh!"

Imoen giggled. "Doubt there's a ride like that here."

"Then maybe I'll try hatchet-throwing. Don't think I'd even know what to do with a slave, and thrones of skulls are probably best left in the storybooks."

The Nashkel fair stretched out before them; rows and rows of colorful tents haphazardly arranged along a series of wide forest clearings. The smells of roasting meat and cooling confections wafted through the air along with jaunty drum-and-fife music and harpsong. Several companies of minstrels could be heard at once. Their styles and voices clashed a bit, adding to the overall din along with the cries of children and the murmur of adults.

Imoen skipped ahead to the makeshift corral where the 'unicorn' shuffled around with two children clinging to its back. Ashura turned away and absently browsed the stalls. _That Imoen. Next thing she'll be buying one of these stuffed dragons._

Ashura purchased a skewer of candied fruit and quietly began to munch, watching the crowd pass by. It was good to have a bit of peace. Even better to have a lot of money. Days ago she had replaced Jaheira's armor with a new chainmail tunic that she wore over a padded black doublet and a skirt of interlocking black leather strips that came down to her knees. She also wore thin leather gloves and the magical boots they had pilfered from Mulahey. Apparently the boots conferred some resistance to electricity, though she was not eager to test it. She had left her helmet back at the manor house but wore the chain tunic to the fair. Can't be too careful when there's a bounty on your head.

"Art thou the heroine of Nashkel?" a feminine voice asked in an archaic dialect.

Looking up from her snack Ashura saw a very short woman with dusky skin and a round face standing across from her. The woman's nose was upturned a bit, her manner serene, giving her an air of haughty nobility. Small hoop earrings decorated with animal teeth hung from her ears and three bronze hoops were wrapped around her neck above a round golden amulet. She wore a purple dress of sturdy fabric that displayed a generous amount of cleavage.

Behind the woman stood an imposing warrior, tall and broad at the shoulders with a bald pate and what appeared to be a permanent, good natured smile on his face. A wide circular tattoo in purple ink decorated his head above and across his right eye. His armor was a light combination of lacquered splints and boiled leather. The man looked vaguely Mulan and Ashura guessed that the woman might be Rashemi. They were both rather young, perhaps in their early twenties if that.

Ashura snorted. "Heroine? Hardly."

"Ah," the man said in a thick accent similar to the woman's, "but that humility is the true mark of a hero!"

"If you say so," Ashura responded, "but I'm really just a survivor. Well, me and Imoen over there." She pointed at the redhead, who was happily making the 'unicorn' trot around as she gave an exaggerated, queenly wave to onlookers real and imagined. "We were following along with more experienced adventurers and they all turned on each other and wound up dead."

The woman in purple inclined her head. "We have heard rumors of such. I am sorry for thy loss."

"Thanks," Ashura said, examining her candied stick. Much like Gorion's death she had relived the incident dozens of times in her head, wishing there was something she could have done. Gorion had ordered her to run, and she could blame standing by in the mines on Xzar's charm spell, but that didn't make her feel like less of a failure.

"I am Dynaheir," the woman said, inclining her head, "and my companion is named Minsc. We are travelers from distant Rashemen."

"I'm Ashura Adrian, as you probably already know." She was nervous about her real name being spoken around town, but it had gotten out and there was nothing she could do now. Imoen and her damn giant mouth.

"If I might impose on thee further," Dynaheir asked, "canst thou tell me what thy learnt of the iron crisis in those mines? Rumors abound, but we wish to know the truth."

"Ya, everyone and their mother seems to be investigating that around here. What's your interest? Rashemen is pretty far removed from the Sword Coast iron trade."

"Tis true," Dynaheir admitted, "but there are rumors that the shortage of iron is an Amnish plot in preparation for war with Baldur's Gate. If war breaks out along the coast it is in the interest of mine people to be told when we return from our dajemma."

"I suppose," Ashura said. She repeated the story she had found herself retelling several times over the past few days about the orc in the Nashkel mines with his army of kobolds and iron corroding potions.

"He was a priest of Cyric too," Imoen interjected, returning from her 'unicorn' ride. "Nasty fellow. He had an army of skeletons and stuff. Oh, I'm Imoen by the way."

"Half-orcs and worshippers of the Prince of Lies art plentiful in Amn," Dynaheir noted. "And though Nashkel art officially an Amnish town it would not be beneath some of their nobles to poison the iron. They are a duplicitous lot down there. Or so I have heard."

"I've no idea," Ashura admitted. "And honestly I've had enough intrigue. There was a Greycloak agent that we rescued from the orc's chamber deep in the mines. Named Xana…something. One of those long elven names with way too many vowels. He said he'd continue investigating the orc's 'true masters' up in Beregost, if you're really interested."

"And thou art not?" Dynaheir asked.

"Nope. No more secret societies or plots within plots if I can avoid them. We're thinking about hiring ourselves out as caravan guards once the fair's over."

"Yup," Imoen said with a devious smile. "We're just good honest mercenaries."

Dynaheir gave them a dubious frown. "We shall be passing through Beregost, methinks, though for other reasons. I've an interest in seeing Candlekeep."

"Oh!" Imoen squeaked. "We're-"

Ashura shot her a look.

"Well, we've been there. Nice place," Imoen muttered.

"The price of entry is rather steep," Ashura warned.

"Aye," Dynaheir said. "A rare and valuable book. Worry not."

A somber look crossed Minsc's face. "Boo will miss that book of Rashemi folktails. Our witch," he pointed at Dynaheir, "has been reading us a story every night and he does not know how he'll manage to sleep without them."

Dynaheir closed her eyes and placed a hand on her forehead.

"Who's Boo?" Imoen asked.

The witch muttered something in her language as Minsc smiled gleefully and held his arm out. A small brown-and-white rodent scurried out of his sleeve and sat in the palm of his hand. "This is Boo!" he announced proudly, "my stalwart animal companion and dearest friend!"

Imoen bent forward and peered. "A…mouse?"

"Heavens no!" Minsc roared and the little rodent ran in circles on his wide palm. "He is a miniature giant space hamster. The only one in existence. A prince among his kind!"

"Oh. A hamster," Imoen said as she reached out to pet the little guy with a fingertip. He scuttled away, back into Minsc's sleeve.

"A miniature giant space hamster," Minsc corrected. "I apologize for his shyness. He does warm up to people eventually."

Imoen smiled. "I'm sure he's a very polite young hamster."

"In any case," Dynaheir said with an obvious look of embarrassment on her face, "we need to move along. A good morn to you."

Ashura nodded as the pair turned and walked in the direction of one of the large tents. "And to you," she replied.

Once they were out of earshot Imoen noted: "I'm pretty sure that was just a hamster."

"I don't know," Ashura said with a bit of a grin. "Giant space hamsters do exist. And shrinking spells aren't unheard of."

"Giant space hamsters?"

"Yeah, I read about them in a bestiary."

Imoen shook her head. "You shouldn't believe everything you read in those."

"Well, they sound more believable than an owlbear."

"Exactly. I don't believe in those neither. Not until I see one for real. I mean an owlbear? Seriously? Next you'll be telling that crabrhinos and mooseeagles are real."

* * *

"I stand corrected," Imoen said with a wicked grin as she pointed to the wooden marquee near the outdoor stage. "Maybe they do have something here with thrones made of skulls and naked guys."

Ashura gave her friend an incredulous look after glancing at the playbill. "A post-eveningfeast showing of _A Waltz with Brigands_? I thought they only showed that play in brothels. No way they haven't cut a bunch of stuff out."

"Ha. Like the whole scene at the docks? We'll just have to see for ourselves eh?" She giggled. "Remember when we found those books in the locked room under the Hall of History? Dreppin blushed so hard when we showed him. I think he especially liked that manual with all the illustrations."

"Looks like we're in time for the midday show at least. _Elminster in the Abyss_."

"See," Imoen said, "that doesn't sound very family friendly either. Wanna check it out?"

"Of course," Ashura replied with a smile. They handed two silver tarans to a young man at the gate to the little outdoor theater and a second man walked them to some wooden bleachers in front of the stage.

A little bit later half-a-dozen stage hands in black bodysuits were climbing around arranging props and soon the play began. It told the story of how Elminster, the mythic "Sage of Shadowdale" (played by a fairly young looking actor in a heavy white beard and wig,) became trapped in the Abyss and how his lover (one of the legendary Seven Sisters,) mounted a rescue into the underworld itself.

For a small country production it seemed quite lavish, with constantly moving wooden backgrounds and elaborate demon costumes. When it was over the audience gave a standing ovation.

"What did ya think?" Imoen asked.

"A little silly to be honest," Ashura replied. "Especially towards the end. I got tired of how they solved everything with bigger and bigger bursts of magic."

"Ya. They say some of the earlier Elminster plays are better, with a lot more of him being clever. That's how real mages do it." She waved her fingers. "Prestidigitation!" A small ruby ring appeared in the palm of her hand, and then vanished when she briefly waved her other hand over it. Ashura didn't bother asking where it came from. "But I liked it anyway," Imoen added.

Ashura gently boxed Imoen's shoulder. "Hey, so did I! Especially the part with Demogorgon."

"Nah, the best part was Graz'zt. That was quite a costume! Or lack thereof."

Ahead of them a man in extravagant looking hooded red robes was talking to several fairgoers. Looking up from the crowd he spotted Imoen and Ashura and began to walk his way, eyes fixed upon them. Ashura found her hand hovering over her sword-hilt, memories of assassins fresh in her mind.

The man was tall, his robe hooded, and when he noticed Ashura's ready hands he rolled his eyes and made a placating gesture with an open palm. He wore a gaudy circlet beneath the hood and appeared to be bald underneath. There was a permanent smirk on his face covered by a trimmed goatee and an elaborate, braided moustache.

"I know you barbarians love nothing more than to display your swords and compare their size," the man in red said with a thick accent, "but there's no need. I merely have a question, then I shall be on my way (and none too soon. No doubt standing here close to your stench will test my constitution.)"

"Hey!" Ashura objected. "I bathed last night."

"Yeah," Imoen added. "You're Thayan right? Aren't you one of those super 'civilized' peoples who bathe about once a season and cover it up with heaps of perfume the rest of the time?"

The man in red's eyes widened very briefly in surprise. "You know a little of the lands of the east. Quite surprising. Of course your knowledge of my culture's advanced hygienic practices is sorely lacking. Are you some sort of book-learned barbarians?"

"You could say that," Ashura said. "Was that your question?"

Rolling his eyes the man replied: "No, just idle chatter. If you know of my people you may know that we wizards of Thay travel far and wide to sell magical goods, bringing civilization to far flung lands, one might say. My name is Edwin Odesseiron and I am such a wizard and merchant. I recently sold some goods to a traveling Rashemi witch. A magic wand, if you really must know. Unfortunately it has come to my attention that the item is flawed. I seek to track the witch down and give her a refund before she has reason to use the wand. The good reputation of we Red Wizards hangs in the very balance."

"Very dramatic," Ashura stated dryly.

"Indeed. So, have you seen the Rashemi witch? She has rather dark skin and wears hoop earrings and large brass rings about her neck. Travels with a big burly ape of a man with a bald head and tattoos. Her bodyguard I believe."

"Yeah," Ashura said. "We talked with them a few hours ago. They might still be around the fair."

"I am fairly certain that they have left. But perchance did they tell you where they were heading?"

"I think they were going north," Ashura said. "To Beregost and then to Candlekeep."

"Most helpful," Edwin said with a slight nod of his head. "And you were correct. You don't smell nearly so bad as these other barbarians." With that he turned and made his way through the crowd once again, already heading north.

"Thanks I guess," Ashura mumbled.

"The good reputation of the Red Wizards of Thay?" Imoen mused dubiously. "I thought they were all backstabbing assholes. That's what the books say at least."

Ashura shrugged. "They say that about all wizards. Not that that guy wasn't an asshole."

* * *

It was early afternoon when the gnomish barker in bright green clothes caught their attention. He was standing on a dirt path that led to a series of smaller tents, a bit away from most of the bustling carnival stalls and gambling pavilions. Behind the gnome stood a life-sized statue of a human woman, and his hands were waving wildly at every passerby.

"Come and see the amazing Stone Maiden," the gnome shouted. "A wonder of Nashkel and longtime curiosity! Long ago on this very spot this mysterious woman was turned to stone, perhaps by a gorgon or in a duel with a sorcerer! It was thought that her mystery was lost to time, but not today! For I have right here," he dramatically pulled a rolled up parchment from his breast pocket, "a scroll that restores stone to flesh! And for the meager price of five hundred danters it can be yours!"

The gnome aggressively waved the scroll at passersby, most ignoring him. "You can be the first to learn the true nature of the Stone Maiden and receive her gratitude. Could she be the long lost princess of the north? A powerful sorceress who will grant you a boon for freeing her? You can't afford not to know!"

"I think we should do it!" Imoen whispered enthusiastically to Ashura.

"Um, come on Ims, it's obviously a scam," Ashura whispered back as she approached the statue for a closer look.

Imoen shook her head. "Look at her pose," she said. "And for that matter look at her. She doesn't look remotely like any artist's model."

_Hm._ Imoen had a point. The statue was nude but had a broad, blocky body that could hardly be called statuesque. It was roughly as tall as Ashura, muscular in a stocky sort of way with larger breasts, wider hips and a rounder belly than she had. The statue's face was not that of a young woman, though it seemed more weather-worn than truly elderly.

And as Imoen had said the statue's pose was very odd: the body was a bit hunched, eyes wide with shock or panic, and its left arm was raised and curved before it, as if the woman depicted was hoisting an imaginary shield. Bending down Ashura ran her fingers through the dirt and grass at the statue's feet. There were tiny flecks here and there of rusted metal. That could be the remains of the woman's armor, if the wild petrifaction theory were true. Or it could be anything.

She stood and brushed her fingers along the granite surface of the statue. Very smooth, with little bumps here and there that appeared to be moles and even a few light scars. "Well, the artist was certainly going for realism. And an unusual look."

"Bah," Imoen protested. "What he was going for was a petrified woman. Look at the fear in her eyes. The awkward stance, like she was just caught off-guard. Come on! I'm sure about this."

Ashura began to say something about it being a lot of their funds, but Imoen was giving her a mischievous look that she had seen many times before. Shrugging slightly Ashura walked over to the gnome and began to haggle. He refused to budge on the price but did eventually agree to take some of the payment in midgrade gems along with a stack of three hundred gold coins. They made their exchange and he happily pocketed the coin while she handed the scroll over to Imoen.

"If this doesn't work…." Ashura growled at the gnome, tapping the hilt of one of a sword.

He gave her a bright, toothy smile. "Worry not." The grinning quickly turned to fidgeting and his eyes roamed about, giving her the impression that he was looking for the best path of escape._ Great._

After unfurling the scroll Imoen gave it a cursory glance and nodded. "Seems legitimate," she announced, promptly turning towards the statue. "One stone-to-flesh coming up. _Creunis olva tugar marnos sespina…"_

While Imoen droned her way through the incantation Ashura noticed movement at the edge of her vision. Quick as a cat she turned and snatched the gnome by his collar before he was out of reach, yanking him towards the statue.

"Hey!" he whined. "I was just-"

"Stuff it!" she snarled.

The draconic runes on the scroll had begun to glow a faint green, one letter after the next, and a light of the same color had sprouted from the heart of the statue, slowly growing. As Imoen raced through the incantation now the light expanded until it briefly covered the entire page and the full surface of the statue.

With a whoosh the parchment disintegrated between Imoen's fingers. At the same time there was a sharp crack and the light that had covered the statue went out. What had been a still figure of smooth granite was now a woman with lightly tanned skin and golden-blonde hair. She stumbled and blinked several times, her left arm still pantomiming like she holding a shield. Gradually her arm fell to her side. Next she looked around with confusion in her eyes.

Then she looked down. Her lips formed a large O and a gasp of shock and embarrassment left them before her arms shot out; one across her chest and the other attempting to cover her loins.

"Oh!" Imoen squeaked. "Sorry." She rushed forward and unfastened her cloak, standing on her toes a bit to throw the garment over the taller woman's shoulders.

The blonde woman nodded slightly in thanks and wrapped the cloak around herself, then looked up at the fair and forest around her. When the confusion left her face it was replaced by a content smile. "Ah," she said in the thick accent of Ruathym and the Norheim Isles, "tis good to be free again."

"Gods be good!" the gnome gasped as Ashura let go of his collar. "It actually worked. Urm…I mean…"

The woman with the northern accent cast her eyes upon the gnome. "It worked?" she asked. "So you were the one who found a key to my stony prison? If so I am very much in thy debt."

Imoen giggled. "You could say he had the key. Of course he was charging a _huge_ heap of gold for it."

The northerner's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You charged a fee for the magic to free me? You…you _profited _from my curse?!" She raised a hand, forgetting her modesty for the moment as the cloak slipped down a little. There was an electric crackle in the air as energy extended from her palm and a hammer formed of flowing blue magic popped into existence in her hand. The gnome cowered and covered his head as the northerner stomped towards him.

"Miss," the gnome stammered, "please. I never would have left you in the stone. I…I…"

She held the crackling weapon aloft.

Imoen's hand shot up and grasped the woman's wrist. She caught a cold glare from the northerner and held her gaze. "Does it really matter?" Imoen asked. "You're free now."

The woman's eyes softened a bit and after a time she nodded. She shot the gnome another glare and he turned and ran as fast as his little legs could take him. "That's right!" the woman shouted after him. "Flee while you can you little rat! Before I change my mind." The magical hammer winked out of existence and Imoen let go, allowing the woman to pull the cloak up and wrap it tightly once more.

"I should be more grateful," the northerner said, turning to Imoen once again. "I thank you for my freedom and owe you a great debt, especially now that I know you paid in coin for it."

"No worries," Imoen replied. "I'm just glad to see a day go by without bloodshed. We have a nice streak going."

"I am Branwen Yuriksdater, by the way," the blonde woman said with a slight inclination of her head, "a Warpriestess of Tempus from the Isle of Seawolf. I have seen many a campaign, and would be happy to join your war-party to repay my debt if you will have me."

Ashura chuckled. "It's not much of a war-party at the moment but I suppose we could use your help."

"Yup," Imoen said. "We can at least help you get used to the world of the non-stony. How long were you petrified for anyway?"

"That," Branwen noted, "is a very good question. By your manner of dress and speech I am guessing it has been quite some time. Not to mention," she glanced around, "that when last I saw this place it was an open battlefield."

"Well," Ashura said, "it's thirteen sixty-eight."

Branwen gave her a blank look.

"The year. Uh, thirteen sixty-eight by Dale Reckoning."

Branwen shrugged slightly.

"It's the Year of the Banner, if you go by the prophecies of and Augathra the Mad."

Branwen shook her head.

"Oh boy."

"So when exactly where you petrified?" Imoen asked.

"By the manner my people reckon time," Branwen said, "it was the fifty-ninth year since the crowning of the first Iron King, but I doubt that means anything beyond the Northeim Isles." Now it was Imoen and Ashura's turn to give blank looks. "When I came to these lands the people I met reckoned time by the coronation of some lord in Waterdeep. I believe they called it the…two-hundred and twenty-ninth year? Something like that."

Imoen snapped her fingers. "Oh! Northreckoning. Ahghairon was coronated in ten third-two D.R. So that was…" She tapped her fingers in the air, doing the math in her head. "Twelve sixty-one D.R. So uh…you were a statue for a hundred and five years. Ouch!"

"I see," Branwen said with a solemn nod. "Well, when I set out from the isle I did not intend to return. Still…knowing there is no one to return to is unsettling."

"Sorry."

"No matter."

"So uh…we probably aught to find you some clothes. Shouldn't be much of a problem, I think there's several tailors around here hawking their wares. There's also a couple of armor venders."

Ashura frowned at Imoen. "Um, we've already spent-" she began but was cut off when the redhead gently placed a bag that clinked with the sound of coins and jewelry into her hand. "Oh, guess we can afford some armor." To Imoen she whispered: "I never even saw you get close to the gnome? How in the world did you..?"

"Told ya before," Imoen teased. "If you didn't see it means I did a good job."

"Perhaps I can assist in the purchasing," Branwen said, walking over to the spot she had occupied for over a century. "I would hate to feel that I owe still more than I already do." Careful to keep the cloak tightly wrapped about her she got on her knees and began to sift through the dirt with her fingers. After a few minutes she pulled something from the ground that gleamed. "Tis just as I had hoped!"

"Buried treasure?" Imoen asked.

"Not exactly. Tis simply that no one thought to dig beneath my feet where my old coinpurse fell. No doubt the coinage is of a different make than what you use here and now but gold is gold, in any age."

Imoen giggled. "Quite true."

After collecting a few coins from the dirt Branwen gave a slight "Ah ha!" and pulled up something else. It was a small, dirt-caked piece of jewelry. Eager swipes of the northerner's fingers knocked the grime away, revealing a thin, circular piece of gold that curved around a greenstone the size and shape of a large pebble.

"Now I just need a string to tie this about my neck," Branwen said happily.

Imoen eyed the amulet. "Oh, is it magical?" she asked.

The northerner shook her head. "Just a reminder of home. Far across the sea." She glanced at the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered around them and the bustling carnival beyond, and added: "And very long ago."

* * *

**Author's Note: **As some may have noticed I changed Branwen's backstory significantly. Ever since I first played Baldur's Gate I really liked the idea the guy selling the scroll suggested that the statue was ancient and mysterious. I was disappointed when I learned that she had been petrified for maybe a week, and by some guy you bump into as part of the main quest. I don't think her being older significantly changes the character: an exiled warpriest searching for battle and waiting for a good day to die.

Also I wanted to leave it up in the air whether or not Elminster actually exists in this story/version of the Realms, so he's appearing in stories and legends instead of dropping in to give cryptic exposition.


	11. Chapter 10 - I Am Death Come for Thee

**10 – "I Am Death Come for Thee…"**

_"Bereth: But is not the theater a timeless, universal thing?_

_Helot: Not quite. That which we do to entertain changes with the roll of the years and the whims of fashion. The sort of tragedy in style today will be deemed too depressing when more dreary times arrive. Laughter is universal but that which elicits it changes from one generation to the next. Even sex appeal is no sure bet, for that which titillates in one time and place will be deemed too vulgar later and then too safe and facile in yet another age. Though there is one constant all audiences crave and that we players must deliver._

_Bereth: And what is that?_

_Helot: That we die. To bring tears, cheers or even laughter, through one age to the next, we players die in droves for their amusement."_

-Raelis Shae, _The Pit Fiend's Wager_, Act III Scene IV

* * *

"Now this looks promising," Imoen exclaimed as she pointed at the colorful sign by one of the tents.

"'_Bentha Trasis, Herbalist and Fortune Teller_'?" Ashura read aloud. "Seriously?"

"You don't want to hear yer fortune?"

"Not particularly. Either she'll be honest and tell me something depressing or it'll be a load of goblin shit about handsome princes or whatever."

"Aw," Imoen pouted. "Who says some handsome young man isn't about to appear and sweep you off your feet? I think you're due. Maybe he'll be a dashing bard with a deep, sonorous voice!"

Ashura rolled her eyes.

"You're being a bufflehead," Imoen said with a waggle of her forefinger.

"I know," Ashura admitted. "I'm just a little tired." They had been indulging Imoen for the past two days, first by playing dress-up-dolly with Branwen and then by slowly touring the carnival from one end to the other. Ashura felt like she had sampled every kind of confection the Amnish could dream up. She had also lost nearly two gold pieces on a knife-throwing game (damned weighted weapons!) and far more than she wanted to think about in the gambling tents. Either Lady Tymora had not been kind of Beshaba was really pissed about her dead servants. The day before their faces had been painted with vivid tiger patterns (the markings had since faded and washed away,) and today Imoen and Ashura sported a fresh coat of gloss and paint on their finger and toenails (a matching shade of purple.) Imoen had tried her best to get Branwen to join in the manicurist's tent but the northerner had been adamantly against it.

In addition to the heavy stomach and lighter purse Ashura's head still felt a bit tender after _way_ too much spiced ale and mead the night before. Once night fell and the families departed the carnival got a little seedier, with drinks flowing, whores making their rounds, provocative song and dance spilling from the flaps of the pleasure tents, and the pungent scent of black lotus and hemp resin wafting through the air. Ashura had been tempted to give the lotus dens a try but figured that getting sleepy-drugged when there's a bounty on your head was a bad idea. In retrospect getting fall-on-your-face drunk hadn't been any smarter, but she blamed Branwen for that. The woman could throw back mead like it was water. At least they hadn't woken up with the matching tattoos Imoen had joked that they should get.

Over the course of the touring and revelry Branwen had gradually told them her story; that she had left her homeland in self-imposed exile because her countrymen did not allow women to be priests of Tempus, and that she had been petrified in some sort of dispute with her mercenary company over honor. The way she told it the company had found itself on the losing side of a battle and decided to change sides. When she refused to go along with the plan one of the wizards took her out of the equation with a spell. He had probably not meant any meaning by it but she took the petrifaction as a personal insult, as it had denied her an honorable death on the field a century ago.

"And anyways," Imoen was saying, "madam Benthra seems to have yer concerns about fortune tellers covered." She pointed at some tiny script at the bottom of the sign that read:

_All predictions only show the most likely future out of a sea of possibilities. All fates are malleable. No refunds!_

"I wonder if fate really is malleable or if that's just something diviners say to give themselves wiggle room," Ashura pondered. She gestured towards the tent flaps. "Well, let's give it a try."

Imoen skipped ahead into the fortune teller's tent and Branwen quietly followed.

It was at about that moment that a perfectly good afternoon went straight to the Hells.

The silent tension inside was palpable. It hit Ashura in the face like a foul smell as she entered, and she thought of turning and retreating but her companions had already walked ahead of her. At the far side of the round chamber a middle aged woman stood with her back pressed against a bookcase, terror in her eyes. A man with streaks of grey in his dark hair stood in front of her, his hand outstretched, and wisps of electricity danced between his fingers.

Looking over at the newcomers the woman managed to stutter out the words: "H-help me, please! He's mad!"

The man silently scowled, eyes shifting back and forth between the three companions and the woman.

"Um," Ashura mumbled, "we were just on our way…"

The air crackled beside her as a hammer formed of magical force came into being in Branwen's hand. "Release her immediately!" the northerner snarled.

The man shook his head slightly and turned to fully face the terrified woman once more. He barked out a single word and the electricity in his hand congealed into a ball that he hurled with a flick of his wrist. It crossed the space between them in an instant and struck her in the chest with a sharp crack, briefly lighting the room and sending spasms through her body.

She kicked and writhed for a moment, arms and legs flailing, then as the lightning-flash faded her body went limp and she slid down the bookshelf. Her eyes were empty and wide open, smoke rising from the edges of her mouth, and the foul smell of singed hair filled the tent.

"Can we go just one day without someone getting brutally killed in front of us?" Imoen complained as she averted her eyes.

Turning towards them the man shook his head solemnly. "I was hoping the threat of finishing that spell would convince her to give me a refund," he said. "But you forced my hand."

"Well they say all fates are malleable-" Ashura began.

"Don't give me that crap!" the man cut her off. "That bitch's advice cost me a fortune!"

Ashura waved a placating hand. "Sorry," she said. "Sorry. Look, we don't mean to-"

Branwen stomped forward and raised her hammer menacingly. "Oh," she bellowed, "we most certainly do mean to. That woman will be the last victim of your foul sorceries!"

The mage shrugged and waved a hand. "_Narris sa'pel_." With his words there was a shimmer on Ashura's periphery and when she turned she saw that the tent flap had vanished and been replaced by an unbroken wall of canvas. "I do not intend to leave any witnesses anyway."

_No backing out now._ Ashura drew one sword after the other and circled away from Branwen, trying to flank the man. He managed to spit out yet another spell before they could reach him and split into five identical versions of himself. _Ugh. That spell again._

Lashing out at the first copy of the mage she could reach Ashura wasn't surprised to contact nothing but empty air as the image winked out. All four remaining men were waving their arms in synch, and to Ashura's horror she recognized some of the words and the golden energy that was gathering between the four sets of hands.

"Branwen!" she shouted. "It's a fear spell!"

The priestess nodded and closed her eyes, a serene look on her face. "Foehammer…" she chanted out, the rest of the words coming in the language of the Norheim Isles. Ashura thought she heard drums and battlesong somewhere far, far away and felt a surge of warmth fill her chest. It strengthened and gave her a sort of blind certainty that pushed everything else aside. When the cold waves of the mage's spell hit her the warmth seemed to burn it away.

The mage scowled and his hands drew close together. Something green and hissing began to form between them as he chanted out the words of his next incantation.

At the center of the room beside the herbalist's cauldron Imoen popped up into view and hefted a bucket up with all her strength. From the bucket a wave of liquid flew towards the roof of the tent and rained down on all four duplicates of the mage at once. Each version cringed slightly as the water hit their faces and shoulders, but three of them wavered slightly before reforming.

_There he is!_

Ashura charged but Branwen was closer, and with an electric crackle her hammer slammed into man's stomach, overwhelming whatever magical protections he had and forcing him to bend over and fall to his knees. Without pause the priestess pulled the hammer up and then slammed it down, splitting the man's skull with a wet thunk. Imoen cringed and turned away.

As Branwen straightened and took a breath Ashura noticed a content smile on her face, along with a few droplets of blood. "Tis good to take part in righteous battle once more," the priestess said.

"Uh…" Ashura mumbled. "Yeah. I guess. We probably aught to get out of here before the guards show up." She was starting to have her doubts about this new companion. A priestess of the god of war from the land of berserkers. Of _course_ she was going to throw herself into battle whenever there was the slightest excuse.

The tent flap was still gone but with some fumbling against the wall they found the gap hidden beneath the illusion and pushed their way through into the light. Thankfully the brief commotion they had caused hadn't drawn any attention and they managed to slip into the crowd. It probably helped that there were always at least two magic shows going on at the fair, and the crackle of the mage's electrical spell was nothing compared to the sound of Oopah the Exploding Ogre.

After they had put some distance between themselves and the fortune teller's tent Branwen asked: "What was that liquid you used on the sorcerer? Something to disrupt illusions?"

"The universal solvent," Imoen said with a grin. After that just got her a blank look she added: "Water. A bucket the witch probably used for brewing potions. I'm just glad it worked." Once they had reached the far side of the fair Imoen pulled two small, mismatched books bound in leather from her pockets. "At least it wasn't a total wash," she said. "(Hehe. Get it?)"

"Uh huh," Ashura said. "Are those…spellbooks?"

"Yup. Between these and Tarnesh's I should be able to pick up a few useful spells."

Ashura gave her friend a puzzled look before she grinned and snapped her fingers. "Oh! I see how you picked that gnome's pocket without even getting near him! You've been studying magic again haven't you Ims? Like you did before you started sleeping through Jessup's lectures."

"Pfft. Imoen the Great will never reveal how she does her tricks!"

* * *

Four different shades of fire streaked into the night sky and burst into showers of sparks. The _pop-pop-pop_ made by the lightshow echoed across the clearing, some of the wider explosions hanging in the air for some time; spiraling galaxies of color that slowly dissipated as their stars fell. It was the last night of the Nashkel Spring Fair and the fireworks show was in full swing.

A green fireburst lit Imoen's face. "Now," the redhead began, her eyes gleaming with delight, "it could be even more spectacular if they'd throw some magic up there along with this. Maybe a flying dragon illusion or something."

"Bah," Ashura responded with a dismissive wave of her tin cup, making what was left of the spiced ale slosh a bit. They were reclining on some wooden stands at a sparsely peopled corner of the field. "We've had plenty of magic shows. It's nice to see the acolytes of Gond and the alchemists have a chance to shine."

"Ya, I spose," Imoen said, raising her own cup and taking a tiny sip. "I just think everything could be improved with a dragon or two."

Branwen was somewhere nearby and no doubt enjoying the show, probably with one or more of her admirers. Since being awakened from the stone she had become a bit of a local celebrity. Many of the people of Nashkel had grown up hearing of the Stone Maiden or making visits to her grove for picnics, parties and midnight meetings. They had always assumed she was just a strange statue and useful landmark, so seeing her come to life had caused quite a stir around town.

Once word had gotten around she'd been crowded by locals asking her questions and listening intently to her tales of Norheim and days gone by. It didn't escape Ashura and Imoen's notice that most of the followers were young men. Doubtless the Stone Maiden had been the first impression a lot of them had gotten of what a naked woman looks like and many of them still harbored a bit of a crush. It was hard to tell if Branwen was aware of this, but for the moment she just seemed to enjoy the endless series of men who were happy to buy her mead and more tickets for the Great Gazib's show.

The lilting song of a lute nearby drew Ashura's attention away from the lightshow. Turning she saw a man approach with ebon hair pulled back into a tight knot and black clothes made livelier by bright green piping. There was a calm grin on his face as he slowly plucked the strings of his instrument. "Ladies," the man said in greeting as he inclined his head slightly and strummed out a slow, winding song.

Ashura narrowed her eyes and sat up straight. There was something off about the man. Something that made the hair on the back of her neck bristle.

"Oh, hi," Imoen said with a smile. "I remember you. You played uh…Vido in the production of _A Waltz with Brigands_ right? And Graz'zt in _Elminster in the Abyss_. You look different without the greasepaint. And the codpiece." She giggled.

The minstrel nodded. "Indeed I did. I am Nimbul, of the Dale Wind Troubadours. Though tonight I play a different role."

Ashura's hand found the hilt of her right-hand sword. She had felt the uneasiness when the man first set foot on stage, though at the time she had written it off to the part he was playing. Uneasiness and an implacable familiarity.

"That's good to know," Imoen said, "since Vido was kind of an ass. A handsome one though." She followed up with a wink.

"You flatter me," Nimbul said, "though twould flatter me more if you allowed me to serenade you with a song or two. You can determine the price of my performance when I am finished."

"Oh!" Imoen squealed. "Of course. Serenade away!"

With a sly smile and a nod the minstrel began to pluck the strings of his lute once more. The tune was slow and meandering, and when he finally began to sing his voice was deep. The lyrics told of a woman glimpsed across spring fields, her eyes like pale sapphires and ruby lips always laughing; her beauty awe inspiring to the narrator.

Leaning forward Ashura continued to wearily watch the bard. The fireworks had died away for the moment and in the dim light of distant bonfires his face looked gaunt and angular, sharp cheekbones casting deep shadows. His fingers gently strummed the lute but his slender arms were all sinew. Strong, lithe and dangerous. And his large brown eyes were fixed on her. Beyond a few sidelong glances at Imoen they had been focused on her alone from the moment he appeared.

The ballad had moved from spring flowers to balmy summer days and cool trickling brooks. The narrator and the woman in the field had become lovers, meeting beneath the moon for midnight trysts and playing together in steaming summer rains.

Something seemed to shimmer at the corners of the minstrel's eyes, a rainbow-pattern that slithered round and round. Ashura found herself following the pulses of color and leaning closer. She couldn't look away.

The song had become melancholy as the first leaves of autumn turned and the singer began to lament that all beauty must wither away. He was guiding his lover now to the field where they had first met, gently laying her on a bed of long-wilted flowers.

_"And as my hand caressed your neck_  
_A thought occurred to me,_  
_How content you'd be to lay right here_  
_My eternal beauty…"_

Ashura tried to avert her eyes but she couldn't turn from the shimmering pattern. Her whole world had shrunk down to those massive shimmering pools of brown, black and rainbow, and that voice with its promise of rest in ever-blooming fields. At the very corner of her vision she noticed something metallic gleam, half-hidden by the neck of the lute.

_"Fear not my love_  
_The dreamless sleep_  
_In fields of flowers cold…"_

She was being charmed again! Realization quickly turned to anger. To boiling, indignant _rage_. There was a crackle in the air followed by the scream of fresh fireworks soaring.

_"…for I am death come for thee…"_

High above the sky lit up in blazes of red and gold.

Ashura never found out what the bard would have rhymed with 'cold.' Instead of listening she launched herself off the wooden seat with both hands and slammed her foot against Nimbul's lute, sending him reeling and smashing the instrument with a sour note. As the wood and strings fell away a dagger was revealed beneath. Before it could strike Ashura's right-hand sword flew from its sheath and pointed at the bard, forcing him to glide back further.

"So you'll dance this way instead," Nimbul noted with a smug grin on his face. "I offered you peace and ease, but a violent end works as well."

"Wha-what's going on?" Imoen stammered somewhere beside Ashura.

With a flick of his free hand and the utterance of a single arcane word Nimble sent a bolt of golden energy hurling towards Imoen. It struck with a flash and her muscles locked into place, a look of shock frozen on her face.

Ashura charged as the spell hit but Nimbul managed to weave and hop away from her blades before drawing a short sword of his own. Sword and dueling-dagger in hand he struck back and steel rang against steel.

The minstrel proved a frustratingly skilled fencer, managing at one point to trap Ashura's blades and nearly drive his dagger into her neck before she pushed past him. She caught a light slash for her trouble, though her chainmail blocked it well enough. When she whirled back towards him she upped the tempo and drove her blades against his with all the fury she could find. She had him backing up a few steps but then he changed the game entirely with a few strange words: "_Umbriel vistias quiel_."

In a flicker Nimbul vanished and Ashura's double-slash met with air as she probed for her foe. She took a step back and stood still, swords at either side. He was invisible. Had to be. She guessed that he would try to flank her next but she remained still. If she moved she could easily just be offering him her back for a clean stab.

Above the sky lit up again in a series of green flashes, illuminating the battlefield. She was standing in the wide corral of silty dirt used for animal shows, jousts and melees. The earth was loose, covered by countless tracks and for the moment lit. Ashura's eyes swept across the ground, desperately searching for any sign of movement in the sand. She began to pivot very slowly.

The light was fading now. He'd wait for it to go out, then strike. Or he was already somewhere safely out of her line of sight and any moment the sword would plunge into her back.

_Can't think like that. Movement. Come on! Any movement._

The green glow was almost dead when another thunderous _crack-boom_ sounded above and the field was lit by bright orange. At the same time to her left and dangerously close Ashura saw the sand stir. She turned, slowly, slightly. Head down, eyes wide, tracking the movement but never looking directly. _Striking range now._ Her heart was in her throat.

Whirling and slashing fast Ashura felt her left sword clang and scrape against invisible steel. A wavy shimmer followed and Nimbul appeared at her left flank. His sword had caught hers defensively. She turned and stabbed her right sword under her raised arm, forcing the assassin to hop back before he could plant his knife in her back.

Once again Nimbul backed up as Ashura slashed and stabbed, probing for a gap in his guard. His face was blank, body turned to the side as she hammered away at his sword and wide-hilted fencing dagger. The assassin just kept backing away, on the defense, even when they reached a set of wooden stands a few paces from the sand. It was the tallest of the bleachers that stood in a rough semicircle facing the field and the empty stage, a full twelve rows tall.

Without a break or a glance back Nimbul hopped up and over the first row of seats as the small crowd scattered before him, some screaming. The assassin leapt over another set of benches, then another, higher and higher. Maybe he was seeking an advantage in higher ground? Or trying to trip her up on the obstacles. Or both. His weapons didn't have the reach to really sweep down and endanger her but the damn benches protected his legs from her swords as she followed and slashed.

Another flight and another, swords ringing. Balancing on the narrow wooden bench Ashura couldn't lunge, forcing her to favor indecisive attacks. She expected some kind of low bending stab from her opponent or another sort of all-or-nothing attack that would take advantage of the height, but he just kept batting her swords away and hopping back. Did he want her to try and knock him off the back of the stands?

Nimbul didn't stop when he leapt his way onto the final row of seats. Instead her barked out the words: "_Crey lavisi_," and pushed off the top of the stands, flying into the open air beyond. There was a faint white shimmer around the soles of his boots as he gently floated down, leaving Ashura hesitating at the top. She could jump and hit him if she did it right now but-

With a flick of his wrist Nimbul threw his dueling dagger and Ashura dodged to the side, feeling the steel whistle past her face. The assassin's hand shot to his belt after the throw, yanking out a thin, ornate rod painted a flaming orange and carved in the shape of a serpent. _A wand!_ His mouth turned up into a sneer as he spoke a single unintelligible word.

Orange flames bloomed at the tip of the wand and flew with a hiss as Ashura desperately dove to the side. She felt the heat before it even struck the top seat and filled her vision with a golden sunburst. Her leap took her off the stands and she was free-falling when the wave of searing flames struck her.

Overwhelming heat. Her nerves screamed. Wind rushed by her ears as the earth rose to meet her and struck the air from her lunges, replacing it with pins and needles. Long, desperate gulps of air followed. The needles were replaced by a sharp stabbing in her right side. She tried to open her eyes but everything was a burning blur.

There was still intense heat on her back, against her cheek and at her right arm. _Oh gods! Am I on fire?_ It was agony to move but she forced herself, rolling onto her back and rocking as she tried to smother the flames from her cloak. Frantically she patted out her shoulder, choking on the smoke.

A black and green smear floated down to the ground a few paces away. Ashura forced herself to focus. Nimbul lazily approached, his sword raised. Flames illuminated his gaunt face, his smirking eyes, and trails of embers flew in the space between the two. Her right sword was nearby and visible but the left weapon had flown from her hand and fallen gods know where.

Glaring at the assassin Ashura clenched her fist and ghostly light crackled there, making Nimbul stop and raise an eyebrow. With a raspy snarl she threw the gathered energy, leaving an umbilical trail of blue-white light between her hand and the assassin's chest where it struck. His life-force thumped through the trail to her hand, and she drank as deeply as the brief flash of power would allow her.

Comforting warmth flooded her chest and limbs. The pain at her side subsided and she felt something shift and grow whole there. She had obviously broken a few ribs in the fall. Reaching out she grasped her sword and wobbled her way to her feet while Nimbul stumbled backwards, scowling and shaking his head.

The scowl on the assassin's face was quickly replaced by a wolfish grin. He flicked his free hand forward and ghost-light exactly like what Ashura had wielded appeared in his palm. The cold fire shot forward and struck, burrowing deep and taking back what she had stolen. Ashura felt the warmth leave, replaced by numbing ice. Her wounds did not return but her strength fled and she dropped to her knees.

"You are not the only one who can pull the very life from your enemy and drink it," Nimbul stated with as he stepped closer.

"You…you're like me aren't you?" Ashura rasped out. "I could sense it."

The assassin gave the slightest of nods. "Like you and not. You don't even know do you?"

She shook her head weakly.

"We are both children of Death. But I will be His favored. Hold still now sister. I can make this quick and clean."

As he pointed his sword forward a look of surprise appeared on Nimbul's face and he reared his head back. Less than a heartbeat later an arrow hissed through the air and flew right past the assassin's nose.

They turned towards the source of the arrow: Imoen, carrying a bow she must have lifted from an archery display. The redhead already had another arrow knocked. As she let it fly Nimbul twisted his body to the side and the missile went past his shoulder by a finger's width if that.

The attack bought Ashura enough time to hobble to her feet, but she was in no condition to duel. With a shaky hand she felt at her belt. The bottle there hadn't broken with her fall. The last healing potion.

Flicking the stopper away with her thumb, Ashura brought the vial to her lips and drank the sticky-sweet liquid down with one long gulp. Warmth once again filled her body and her arms and legs straightened.

"You should still be held," Nimbul snarled at Imoen. She just knocked another arrow and fired. Once again the assassin casually dodged, as if he could sense the exact trajectory of the arrow before it flew and move just enough that it missed him.

There was a crackle in the air and something blue-white and glowing hurled towards Nimbul. He hopped to the side but the arm-sized object followed his movements, slamming into him and sending him spinning. After the strike the object rose slightly and hovered, buzzing in the air. It was a hammer made of force, the sort that Brawen kept conjuring.

Stepping from the shadow of the burning stands the warpriestess marched towards Nimbul, the scales of her armor clinking and her shield hefted. In her hand she held a warhammer made of wood and steel while her summoned weapon floated nearby. "Enough dirty tricks assassin!" Branwen shouted. "Face me in righteous battle!"

"No," Nimbul replied, following the word with a few more that Ashura didn't recognize and a rolling gesture of his hand.

Something dark shimmered in the grass beneath Branwen's boots and she began to slide, kicking frantically for purchase before her feet flew all the way out from under her. By then Ashura had managed to find her second sword and, praying to Talos that it gave her a little advantage she charged.

The assassin had his back to her. Maybe…but no, he whirled around and parried her first attack, nearly cutting through her guard and delivering a blow himself. She was forced to hop back and pivot a bit. They exchanged ringing slashes for a moment and again Nimbul backed up, fighting defensively. _It's his style,_ Ashura realized, _he's a good enough swordsman to keep the blades off of him, and he uses that to lead you into a trap._ What was the trap this time?

Nimbul ducked low under one of Imoen's arrows and as he shot back up he sang out some familiar words: "_Umbriel vistias quiel_." There was a red shimmer along with fainter rainbow hues as his form flickered and vanished.

_Oh. Same trick again._ Ashura guessed that he would move to her left and slashed out in that direction, but just hit emptiness. The ground here was all grass. Would it even stir enough under his invisible footsteps to be helpful?

A few paces away Branwen had carefully found her feet. She pressed her boots against the slippery grass as best she could and raised her shield and hammer high into the air. "I said enough dirty tricks," she bellowed. "Foehammer! _Gjore det usynlige sett!_"

White light burst from the space between her upraised hands and covered the field like a lightning flash. Something wavered and moved behind Ashura and she turned just in time to sidestep Nimbul's attack and drive her own blade deep into his torso. The assassin let out a shocked gasp and flailed on her sword. Familiar ghostly light began to swell unsteadily at the palm of his hand.

"No!" Ashura shouted at the man's face as she stabbed her second sword directly into his chest. "Die! Now!" There was rage in his eyes. She twisted the sword and that rage subsided into spasms of pain, quick and fast and weaker and weaker. The light in Nimbul's palm died as the hand went limp. Finally his rolled back and he slumped to his knees, still stuck on the swords.

Ashura panted hard as she watched her foe slide down. It was over. Or not quite.

There was a strange glow on Nimbul's still face; pinpricks of fire here and there as if he was burning beneath the skin. Those flames quickly grew as tiny embers lifted from his face and hair, gathering into a cloud that billowed slowly away. Briefly his skull was revealed, then that too burned to nothing and the glowing cloud floated off.

Turning her head Ashura followed the burning dust, and even when it slipped off into the darkness she felt as if she could still see and follow. In her mind's eye she saw the cloud float along and then plunge down and down into the ground. Her vision plummeted with it, moving at impossible speeds through deep tunnels and into the bowls of the world where fires burned eternal. At some point she felt that her vision had passed through the veil and she and the burning cloud were falling towards somewhere far beyond this world.

Down and down she went, into a vast pit of bubbling magma and chocking smoke. The embers fell before her to the shimmering red and black surface and lit something hotter and brighter in the pit. There it was again: the grinning death's head and the halo of tears that surrounded it, lit up in the flames of Gehenna.

She was awakened from the strange trance by the sound of wood cracking followed by the collapse of the burning stands. There she was, back at the fair, swords in hand and the pile of Nimbul's clothes and weapons sitting at her feet. The fire had spread to another set of bleachers along with a nearby tent where the theater company kept its props.

Looking over Ashura saw expectant looks on Imoen and Branwen's faces. She shook herself slightly. "We'd better get the hells out of here," she said.

* * *

A mist-shrouded dawn was turning over into clear morning as the three companions descended along the northern road. Nashkel was long out of sight, and the tall pines of the mountain forest loomed all around them now. Hours ago they had briefly stopped at the manor house to gather their equipment then slipped out into the night. Ashura wasn't certain how many people had witnessed her battle with Nimbul or if she would be blamed for burning down a third of the Nashkel Fair, but she felt that they had overstayed their welcome anyway. Not to mention the threat of more assassins in a town where everyone knew her real name.

Despite the odd hours she didn't feel the least bit tired and no one else was complaining. Maybe adrenaline could carry them along the road. Or for most of the day at least. From there she supposed it would be on to Beregost, and then who knew.

As they rounded a corner a man came into view far up the road, tall and broad and swaying a bit as he walked. _A drunk perhaps?_ Drawing closer it became clear that there was blood running down his face and a nasty black gash along the top of his hairless head. Past the blood there was something else: a circular purple tattoo, and although it was torn and battered in many places Ashura recognized the man's lacquered armor.

"It's that Rashemi woman's bodyguard," Imoen exclaimed, rushing towards the injured man. "You're Minsc right? Are you okay?"

The tall man shook his head frantically, the loose greatsword at his back clinking against his armor. "Not okay. Not okay at all!" he bellowed. "They've taken my witch!"


End file.
